


Friend-Enemy

by Dumb_thotticus



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Addiction, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Period-Typical Sexism, Pre-Canon, Slice of Life, the AU you didn't know you needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:07:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 42,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23478949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dumb_thotticus/pseuds/Dumb_thotticus
Summary: An AU where Holt and Wuntch are lifelong best friends, meeting as officers and fighting bad guys and prejudice together over the course of their careers.AKA the AU literally nobody asked for but I wanted to write!Other characters/relationships will show up as the fic goes on.
Relationships: Kevin Cozner/Ray Holt, Madeline Wuntch & Ray Holt
Comments: 45
Kudos: 95





	1. 60th Precinct

**Author's Note:**

> While watching the Season 6 finale with my family, we began wondering what the show would be like if Holt and Wuntch were a couple. I decided to write it- well, sort of. 
> 
> Other characters will show up as the fic goes on, especially Kevin because he’s my favourite!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a new job comes new faces.

****

#### 

**1979**

* * *

For the first time, life seemed to be going in Raymond Holt’s favour.

For many years, the world seemed to have set him up to fail. Being born as a black man in a white-dominated society, ostracised by his peers for his intelligence, being in love with the ‘wrong gender’: all things he had little control over, yet people seemed only too eager to criticize him for it. In his eyes, it was akin to making fun of a bald man for having no hair, although that rarely, if ever, led to the same kind of discrimination that he had come to accept as part of his day-to-day life. Yet today, all the bigotry and hatred in the world seemed to paused for a moment to give Raymond one moment of respite, and it had come in the form of putting him on the first rung of the ladder he had to climb to achieve his lifelong dream of becoming commissioner. Sure, his first posting might be in the notoriously terrible Brighton Beach precinct, but for a man like him, getting a job anywhere in the NYPD was nothing short of a miracle.

Despite never having believed in astrology and chance like his sister, he found himself thanking his lucky stars as he sat down at his new desk, already feeling at home. He withdrew the pen he had bought as a sort of well-done gift to himself. Although he was normally against such indulgences, he felt the situation warranted it. He placed it parallel to the end of his desk, framing his writing area with a sense of precision few appreciated. Suddenly, a figure appeared at the end of the desk.

“Officer…Holt.” His new captain paused on his name, looking at him with both curiosity and concern. He had absolutely no doubt as to why. The comment made by one of the detectives about turning himself in had made that abundantly clear. “Here is your first case. You will be working it with Detective Wuntch but be warned,” The larger man bent down and dropped his voice to a stage whisper, “She’s a bit pushy. Kinda PMS. We only keep her around because she gets shit done. Women, thinking they know it all- the only time they get to be in charge is in the kitchen!” The captain threw back his head in laughter, clearly thinking he was the funniest man alive. Raymond continued to look at him with the same facial expression he had before. Making a good impression on his captain was important, but not enough so that he was to abandon his principles on both discrimination and what warranted such an extreme emotional reaction. Once the captain was done with finding himself hilarious, he dumped the paperwork unceremoniously onto his desk, knocking his pen to the floor. Hoping that it wasn’t dented, he picked it up carefully. Not even a scratch. If luck existed, it was on his side today. 

Uncordially, the captain and luck did not seem to be on the same page, as it was immediately apparent that the case assigned to him was almost impossible. No leads, no motive, no obvious suspects: it was almost like him and Detective Wuntch had been set up to fail. The cynical part of his brain led him to believe this was some kind of plot to stop black people and women from succeeding: his internal optimist thought that this was some kind of ‘hazing’ ritual, as was common in fraternities or other male-led environments like this one. He sighed and reviewed the photos of the crime scene. Nothing had materialised since the last time he had looked at the photo two minutes ago. He put the photos aside with the intention of asking his new partner if she could see anything amiss. What was taking her so long? 

After what felt like hours, and very little progress, Raymond was ready to take a break and eat some vanilla ice cream. The food of failures, it was what he deserved. He felt completely and utterly hopeless: after all, if he couldn’t solve a break and entry, what could he solve? His partner had still not appeared, and by now it was obvious that other people were starting to get concerned if the frequent glances at her absent desk were any indication. 

“Captain, is there any sign of Detective Wuntch? I think her presence might be helpful on this case.”

The captain laughed. “Girlie’s bitten off more than she can chew, as always.” The use of a cliché paired with blatant misogyny cemented Raymond’s knowledge that he was never going to like the captain. For the sake of appearances, he brushed it off. They could at least pretend to be cordial.

“Will she be back shortly?”

“She should have been back two hours ago, but she managed to turn her simple B & E case into a full-scale investigation. Mad woman reckons it’s a drug bust, got a SWAT team and everything. They’ll come back with nothing in…” He glanced down at the watch jammed over his thick wrist. “…half an hour, say? Keep at the case, officer. I’m sure you’ll get there.” And with a self-satisfied smirk, the captain sent Raymond on his way.

Just as promised, Detective Wuntch walked in half an hour later, the taskforce on her heels. Unlike what the captain had promised, the assortment of writing men and bags of grey powder did not look like nothing. 

“50 kilograms of heroin found on Neptune Avenue, 16 arrests.” She reeled off statistics as she stood at the front of the room, ignoring the taskforce wrestling the perpetrators into the holding cell. Everyone else had fallen completely silent and were looking at her incredulously. Even the captain had been tempted out of his office, obviously in shock. She turned to him, hands on her hips. 

“Captain, I believe that brings my total number of arrests up to… 325?” 

325? Had he heard that correctly? 

The captain looked mildly disappointed. “Yes I… believe it does.” He retreated into his office, beckoning Wuntch. She followed, barley concealing her smile. 

That had to be some sort of record. Most policemen struggled to reach that number over the course of their career, but for someone only a few years older than himself? It was quite literally unheard of. Despite his own formidable arrest numbers, Raymond almost felt ashamed of himself. 

With Wuntch as his partner, maybe it wasn’t time for vanilla ice cream.

20 minutes later, Wuntch was standing in the entrance of the captain’s office, shouting at him.

“Why can’t I do my questioning with Officer Holt!”

“This is a big case, detective! Do you really want a newbie on it?”

“Weren’t you the man saying that this whole thing is a waste of time? Since you say this case is nothing, why not have him do it? In a nice, _low-stakes_ , environment?”

The captain sat back in his desk and sighed. “Wuntch, this is your case and you can do with it however you see fit. But I swear to god if you fuck this up…”

“They’ll be no consequence, just like there isn’t for every other detective? Excellent, I’ll start right away.” Wuntch swept out of the room, leaving the door open as she left and sitting down opposite Raymond.

“We’ll leave him in there to stew for a little bit, then we’ll make him do the right thing.”

“Do you mean with the perpetrator or the captain?”

It was such a foolish remark, both in sentiment and in tone, and Raymond could hear her derision from behind the paperwork. Wait, was that… laughter? Yes, it was unmistakably laugher. In spite of himself, he began to laugh too. Before long they were both howling like maniacs, oblivious to the confused faces around them. 

“Sorry, it’s been a long day…”

Wuntch smiled at him. “Nonsense, I needed that. Now, I believe we have a cactus to investigate.”

“A…cactus?”

“It’s a large area covered in pricks.”

It was such a stupid remark, but Raymond found himself laughing anyway. They kept laughing all the way to the interrogation room, to the point where they both needed to take pause for a few minutes just to stop themselves. This was proving very difficult, because every time they made eye contact and made to start, they both dissolved into laughter again. They were like two tiny schoolchildren who had just pulled off a master prank. 

Raymond Holt was a man who liked to be sure of himself, and there was one certainty that loomed above the others. If he knew one thing, it was this: He hadn’t seen the last of Detective Madeline Wuntch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know the actual ages of the characters (nobody does), so I chose a year that kind of makes sense and made Wuntch a few years older than Holt.
> 
> Comments are always welcome!


	2. Brighton Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pair work together for the first time.

“I can’t believe you got him to break so fast, you’re a natural!”

The pair were leaving the interrogation room, jubilant. 

“Ten minutes in the box and we had a supplier!”

“Next guy gave you the full address…”

“…And the one after that told us their plans for distribution. I cannot believe we did this!”

“Don’t be modest Raymond, it was all you.” 

“You helped me calm down somewhat- “

“Shush, it was all you. I don’t know about you but I’m headed home- tell me about the B & E so I can sleep on it.”

Raymond’s face fell. “I worked on it all day, without success.” 

“Are you going to give me any details?”

He sighed. “The perp broke in at around 2 am, motive, means, and identity unknown, and we lack an inventory of what was taken. I personally suspect that the captain- “

“Assigned you an impossible case on your first day? Good detective work, Raymond.” It was impossible to tell if she was being sarcastic. He ploughed on regardless.

“The property broken into was located on 7th street, apartment-“ Raymond trailed off. Wuntch looked at him. They were both thinking the same thing. 

“That’s the street that they said the supplier was on!”

“It could be a coincidence.”

“We need to follow this up, as quickly as possible.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do!”

The pair positively sprinted back to their desks. After briefly rifling through the files, Wuntch found the photo of the crime scene. They both stared at it for a few seconds. It looked the same as before, but-

Raymond pointed at a small patch of graffiti, just in frame. He beckoned Wuntch to look.

“Not a coincidence.”

“Agreed.”

* * *

Ten minutes later, they were sprinting out of the locker, keys to a police car in hand. They almost threw themselves into the car and in mere seconds they were pulling out of the precinct, sirens blaring. Despite the late hour people were scattering as the car screamed down the narrow streets. They were both talking franticly into walkie talkies. 

“New evidence regarding the B & E on 7th Street- “

“ETA 22:37- “

“We’re looking for anything related to today’s drug bust- “ 

Contractions. He was freaking out. Big time. 

The car screeched to a halt in front of the apartment. Everything was the same as in the photo, right down to the discarded Coca-Cola can entangled in the tufts of grass. More importantly, the gang sign graffiti was still emblazoned on the wall, almost taunting them. The pair slammed open the door and sprinted up to the floor with the shattered window. They crept along the corridor; guns slightly raised. When nobody came out, Wuntch knocked on the door. 

“NYPD? Anyone in there?”

No response. As expected.

Wuntch raised her voice slightly as she knocked again. “I repeat, NYPD! We will not hesitate to use force if necessary.”

Again, no response. Wuntch repeated herself a third time, then, when that garnered no response, pushed open the door. 

The door gave way with little resistance. As the pair stepped inside, they were taken with how unused the place looked. There was a fine film of dust over every available surface. Not a single scratch on the furniture, not a single mark on the walls. The only indication that anyone had been in at all was the broken window visible in the crime photo. 

“It doesn’t look like anything was taken at all!”

“More importantly, who reported this? I doubt anyone lives here.”

“Probably a neighbour. We could- “

“I am not doing neighbour duty. The boss always makes me do it because I’m a woman.”

“Given how the captain has acted so far I have no reason to doubt you, but are you sure that that is the correct conclusion?”

“He says I’m less threatening than the others because, I quote, we _look like we’re asking around for a tea party_ ” She sounded exasperated, and justifiably so. 

Raymond looked both concerned and disgusted. “What does that even mean?”

“Nothing intelligent I’m sure. You take left, I’ll take right.”

They made short work of examining the apartment, guns still held aloft. After a couple of second Raymond noticed something.

“The dust pattern is different; this might be a clue.”

The pair bent down to look at the box Raymond had uncovered. He was right: there wasn’t a spec of dust on top. What was more, the particles that had settled around it looked disturbed. Snapping on a pair of gloves, Wuntch opened the box.

“Oh my- “

It was full to the brim of grey-white powder that they instantly recognised as heroin. It was accompanied with numerous syringes, needles, and for some inexplicable reason, spoons. 

“Record it as evidence. I’ll look through it.”

After sifting through what looked like enough hard drugs for the entirety of the apartment block, Wuntch found a note at the very bottom. 

“With love, Carl…look out for ghost trains?” Wuntch sounded confused. “Were they on heroin when they wrote this?”

“No, I think it might be a clue.” Holt bent over the note, examining it carefully.

“Ghost trains, ghost trains… is there a funfair near here?”

“I believe so, but I don’t believe it has a ghost train. Still worth checking out.”

“There might be an abandoned train somewhere- “

Wuntch cut him off. “Officer, it’s very late. I’m not trying to belittle your efforts, but maybe you should go to bed? It’s very late, and for an inexperienced officer like yourself this case is a huge asking.”

“If we leave this case until the morning major crimes will snap it up. I am going to act, now!”

“Also, a huge amount of heroin might be distributed, likely resulting in several deaths, but you have a point. We should go.”

After hauling the box of heroin into the boot of the car, they drove off, this time without the blaring sirens.

“I think you’re onto something with the abandoned trains.”

“Yes, but are those common around here? Or anywhere?”

“They’res an abandoned subway tunnel about five minutes from here.”

“Excellent. I suggest we watch the entrance, then plan our next actions accordingly.”

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing with an officer on their first day, but I agree.”

“Excellent. Meeting adjourned.”

The pair drove in silence for the next few minutes, before Wuntch broke the silence.

“So, is there anyone at home? Any special someone?”

“No.” Raymond answered flatly, he detested talking about his personal life, especially at work. 

The car pulled up to the abandoned tunnel. It looked, as expected, abandoned. 

“We should wait. There could be someone in there, we have no way of knowing.”

“I guess we’ll have to do a stakeout.”

For the next hour, the pair sat in silence. Raymond’s response seemed to have made it very clear that he did not want to be questioned further, and Wuntch seemed to respect that. Despite having only known each her for a few hours, he felt more comfortable around her than he had with anyone in the academy. So much so that he felt inclined to know more about her. He returned to her line of questioning.

“So, about what you said earlier…do you have anyone in your life?”

“No, never. My family say I’m married to my job.”

“Well, I heard your arrest numbers earlier. You’re damn good at it.” Raymond chuckled in spite of himself. 

“I’m sure you’ll succeed if you try hard enough.”

“Is what they said about the League of Nations in 1918, and look what happened to them!”

Now it was Wuntch’s turn to chuckle. “Officer Holt, you do make me laugh.”

“Detective Wuntch, I am glad- “

“Call me Madeline.”

“Uh, thanks.” He was caught off guard and didn’t know what to say. 

“No problem. Has anyone told you to take notes at every stakeout yet?”

“No, but it would be foolish not to.”

“Write down that three men just went in, holding boxes like the one in the apartment.”

“Shouldn’t we be doing something about that?”

“Without backup? It would be a suicide mission. This isn’t like the movies, Raymond.”

“I know, it would be foolish to assume otherwise” he reassured.

The discussion continued for several hours in a similar vein, occasionally threatening to go into a more personal direction but being reined in by one of them before they started talking about, god forbid, siblings. Unlike his sister, Raymond was not one for gossiping. Wuntch would never find that out. 

At some ungodly hour in the morning, Madeline made the executive decision that they should go home and get some sleep. This decision was mutually well received, and they began driving back to the precinct. 

“I will see you tomorrow.”

“I guess I will.”

* * *

At 9 o’clock, they both walked into the precinct for another day of work, doing a good job of pretending to have gotten reasonable hours of sleep. 

“So, should we stake out again today or- “

“We need a taskforce.”

“But Raymond, if we’re wrong it could be a huge expense- “

“If anyone noticed us last night, they will have a new location by noon. We need to act now.”

“Much like Victor Emanuel III needed to act to stop the disillusionment of his own monarchy?” 

“Exactly like that.”

* * *

“NYPD, DROP YOUR WEAPONS!”

The taskforce stormed into the dank subway tunnel. Just as Raymond had expected, it was full to the brim with heroin. It was stacked up against the walls, in the ceiling, even in the shaft where the railway had once been. The twenty or so men that had been set to guard said heroin were cowering on the floor, hands on their head. Some tried to run, some tried to hide. None of them succeeded. 

Madeline’s voice crackled down the walkie talkies. “Ok, I think that’s all of it. If the alpha unit can apprehend these guys and the bravo unit can move the heroin…”

Madeline put down the walkie talkie and went over to Raymond. 

“I’m sorry for doubting you.”

“I understand. Most people would find it hard to trust the gut instinct of an officer, especially on their second day.”

“Do you want me to tell you something?”

Raymond looked at her, intrigued.

“One of these days, you’re going to be the second-best detective in the NYPD.”

“And the first?”

“Me, naturally.”

The pair smiled at each other as the taskforce began extracting the heroin.

* * *

Raymond wasn’t normally one for gloating, but he couldn’t help but glory in the look on his captain’s face when he handed in his arrest report. Although the final tally hadn’t been officially completed, they knew that they were looking at one of the largest drug busts in NYPD history. The task of questioning the men in charge of guarding the heroin was going to Major Crimes; however, the credit for the discovery and subsequent arrests was all theirs, and they were glorying in it. Their captain gave a long-winded speech about services to the community that the captain obviously did not want to be giving. Then he made a surprising declaration.

“Officer Holt, Detective Wuntch, the commissioner wants to speak to both of you personally. You will report directly to One Police Plaza. Now go, just, go.” 

Once they were out of earshot, Raymond began to speak.

“You know, I get the sense that he does not like us very much.”

“In fairness, he doesn’t exclusively hate us, just women and minorities in general.” 

“The fact that we are better policemen than he will ever be is merely fuel to the fire.”

“Fighting talk Raymond. Normally people wait at least a few months before criticizing their bosses.”

“I know his kind well. Giving absolutely nothing himself but expecting the world from everyone else.”

“You know Raymond, I have a rule for everyone I meet. I give people as much respect as they give me; in his case, that is very little.”

“Coincidently, very little is also an accurate description of his arrest numbers.”

“Not only his arrest numbers, I’m sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the response I got on the first chapter! 
> 
> This fic was meant to be under 3k words but I'm over that and we're only on chapter 2! Looks like we're in it for the long haul :)


	3. 73rd Precinct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raymond becomes a detective, and their new captain sparks a revelation. The pair find a way to make work more fun.

One month later, Raymond Holt was officially a detective. 

It had been a fairly short conversation with the commissioner, but the face he had made when he realised that a black man and a woman had orchestrated the biggest drug bust the NYPD had ever seen was not one they were ever likely to forget. The final count had come in at over 12,000 kilograms of uncut heroin, as well as other assorted illicit substances and the arrest of several drug kingpins. All in all, One Police Plaza had been impressed by their efforts, and even more impressed by their immaculate paperwork. As a reward, they had both been given jobs at a far more favourable precinct. On their first day at the 73 the pair found themselves sat in front of their new captain. It only took a minute for Raymond to make a full assessment of him. Outgoing, somewhat irresponsible, homophobic but not racist: overall, what someone might refer to as a ‘lad’. He gave a somewhat generic speech about being part of the community and how he had heard _such great things_ about the two of them, but it was the end of the speech that sparked their collective attention.

“You two are going to be judged against each other in the crime stats, for promotions, for pay rises. Do you think you’re up to that?”

Madeline turned to him. “So, a challenge? My experience shows that a little healthy competition never hurt anyone.”

“What you have in experience, you lack in your willingness to take risks.”

The captain clapped his pudgy hands together. 

“That’s the spirit!”

Over the next few months, the pair settled into an intense rhythm, solving cases faster than they could be assigned. Any move Madeline would make, Raymond would match, and then surpass. Raymond had thought that catching the Disco Strangler could not be beaten, only to discover that Madeline was not one to be beaten and had uncovered a torture chamber. They were both working long hours: bringing in more perps than many thought was possible. It was akin to watching an epic chess match, waiting with baited breath to see what the next move would entail. Said moves were often accompanied with biting verbal insults, that, more often than not, only they could understand the full devastating impact of. On this particular day, everyone on the squad had been assigned to work an organised crime racket, and the pair had found themselves in the middle of a heated debate about how the taskforce should best be distributed.

“I think we should just outnumber them; they’ll surrender eventually.”

“That is what the Japanese said about Admiral Yi Sun-sin, and look how that turned out for them!”

Madeline apparently couldn’t think of a comeback to that, so she agreed that yes, maybe sheer manpower wasn’t enough. That being said, she wasn’t going down without a fight and was more than willing to contest him on weapon choices. The rest of the squad were just willing to do whatever they said at this point, already doing overtime and wanting to get back home.

“Can you guys just fuck already?”

****

####  **1982**

* * *

It was almost eight o’clock, and the two of them found themselves being increasingly surrounded by the night shift squad. This was not an uncommon occurrence: it was likely the combination of needing to prove themselves to a seemingly uninterested world, as well as a genuine passion for what they did that led them to be the first ones in and the last ones out. Even their captain had expressed concern, looking at their overtime hours and vaguely mentioning something about a ‘work-life balance’. Apparently today was what broke the captain’s back, as he had decided to come in and talk to the pair. He perched himself on the side of the desk in a cavalier fashion, ignoring the various stationary items that were likely digging into him. 

“You know, don’t tell the others but…you two are my best detectives.”

This kind of praise never came unaccompanied, and they both knew that the correct response was to brace yourself for whatever bad news was about to come while at the same time spitting out an attempt at thankfulness. 

Madeline had attempted the modesty approach, saying how surprised she was, despite knowing for a fact that she held the record for the highest number of arrests as a uniformed officer. This earned her a disarming smile from the captain. 

“The point is, I know you guys want to be the best and work hard but… me and the squad think that you guys are spending too much time at work.”

“You’re at work too.” Madeline pointed out.

“I’m working one late night a week; you guys are working five. All I’m saying is, you guys need to talk to other people outside of work.”

“We do talk to other people! Earlier I was talking to the man who sold me a pastry.”

“I mean like _talking_.” He flashed a sleazy wink at the two of them. 

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You KNOW what I mean! Pulling! Chatting up! Getting babes, or dudes in Maddy’s case.” Madeline winced at the nickname. “Unless you two wanna bone each other…” He gave another wink, this one somehow even worse than the last. And with that, he swept away, looking blissfully unaware as usual.

“So…” Madeline started.

“I’m gay.”

Madeline stopped for a second and looked at him. It was then he realised that she was the first person who wasn’t a family member or romantic interest that he had come out to. 

“I am not ashamed of it, but I would appreciate it if you do not tell the captain. I want to get promoted, and I do not want societal prejudice to get in the way.”

She responded with a noise of acknowledgement, and then returned to her paperwork, the slightest sense of disappointment playing about her face.

* * *

The rest of the week passed without event, and before they knew it, it was a Friday evening. Given that neither of them had miraculously become the pinnacle of popularity since their conversation with the captain they had adopted their usual positions at their desks. Ever since Raymond’s revelation Madeline had been quieter, and the intense banter that the pair usually shared had all but evaporated. Neither were willing to breach the subject, so they continued to work in silence. Logic and common sense would dictate that this was the best way to work; however, the productivity levels since the captain’s talk would suggest otherwise. Both felt strangely unmotivated and neither could put a finger on why. After fruitlessly poring over a homicide case for the last hour and a half, Raymond had resigned himself to the inevitable: he was going to discuss emotions at work.

“Madeline, I’m sorry that you feel uncomfortable working with me now, but we really do need to be productive.”

Madeline raised her head slightly, abandoning her pretence of doing paperwork.

“Do you want to talk?”

“I do not, but given recent events I fear we may have to.”

“Raymond, I don’t respect you less because you’re gay. If anything, I think better of you for telling me.”

Raymond stared at her, unblinking. For a few seconds, he was lost for words.

“Oh I…”

Madeline changed the subject quickly. “Now you’ve accepted my apology, I wanted to propose a new rule regarding our shared stapler…”

That was it. Was that really all she had to say? He knew that coming out to her was a risky decision, one that should have been thought through more carefully, but she seemed to have accepted it. 

He wished the rest of the world shared her views.

While Madeline might be accepting of his sexuality, she was not accepting of his suggestion regarding the shared stapler, and after fiercely debating for several minutes they came to the mutual conclusion that they should simply request another stapler since they had clearly reached an irrevocable impasse of opinion. After that, work seemed to renew, with progress almost returning to its pre-discussion state. 

After a few more hours, the pair of them had reached a point where they were ready to call it a day. By now it was dark outside and their captain had long since gone home to his wife and children, so they deposited the paperwork in front of the night captain and made to go their separate ways.

“Raymond… how would you feel about getting a couple of drinks together? It is Friday, after all!” She gave an awkward laugh. Raymond stopped, turning around and looking intrigued. Madeline continued.

“As friends, of course. Nothing else.”

“Of course! What else would we be getting drinks as, colleagues?” He laughed at the preposterous notion. She gave a rue smile as they walked out the door.  
“Madeline, we should head to my favourite bar. It’s called Chicago’s. It’s got the best beers, and you wouldn’t believe the atmosphere. I can’t get enough of it.” 

“That honestly sounds like hell, but if that’s what you really want.”

“You’ll have a great time, I promise!”

“I guess, according to you, hell would put me right at home.”

Raymond laughed nervously. “I just need to make one quick stop, then I’ll be right with you. Don’t wait up!”

This particular bar was a favourite of his, not because of the rowdy atmosphere of the off-brand alcohol, but because of the numerous televisions showing all manner of activities. He was particularly partial to the ponies, often visiting the bookies next door to make the race more exciting. Just as expected, the derby was on full display as the pair sauntered into the packed room. Madeline ordered two beers which were delivered almost instantaneously despite the huge crowds. Maybe being attractive had some advantages. 

“To another week of solving crimes!”

They clinked the glasses together and drank deeply. 

“You know, I’ve been thinking about what the captain said.”

“When he insinuated that we should, quote-unquote, bone?”

“No, about our work-life balance. He’s right: I think we need to have a little more fun. Not like he was implying, of course.” she quickly added when she saw the look on Raymond’s face. 

“I think that fun and productivity go hand in hand.” 

“Maybe if there was a way to make work more fun…”

Raymond leaned in conspiratorially. “Madeline, I’m a gambling man. What if I were to propose… a bet?”

“On what? Give me terms.”

“On our arrests over the course of a year.”

“Only felonies. “

“Naturally. We start from- “

“Zero, of course. If you’re paired with someone else you get half a point.”

Raymond snorted. “Half points? Why even bother? You get nothing.”

“Isn’t that reckless? Encouraging us to take on cases without assistance?”

“Nonsense, it encourages us to work harder. That being said, you can use a task force and get credit on the condition that you are the sole officer in command.”

“If that is all, you have yourself a deal.”

She held out a hand. Up, down, separation. 

“Now that’s agreed, care for another drink, Raymond?”

* * *

“Leo Beck, 34 years old, possession with intent to distribute. I believe that brings my arrests up to…” Raymond paused for dramatic effect.

“27.” Madeline rolled her eyes and put another tally on their shared sheet. This was accompanied with cheers from the rest of the precinct, who had become aware of their little bet and were now rather overinvested. 

“Never fear Raymond, I’m running a prostitution sting as we speak- “

There was a commotion at the entrance as a taskforce bundled in, accompanied by several people in handcuffs.

“Seven, eight, nine… ten? And _I_ believe that puts my arrest number at…”

Raymond didn’t dignify it with a response. Madeline finished for him. “Thirty _two_.”

The precinct erupted into a series of cheers and catcalls as Madeline jotted down tally marks. Well, there was always another day. He leant over to her. 

“We never agreed what we were actually going to get if we succeed.”

“Is bragging rights not enough for you?”

“With that logic, why get paid for this job at all? Is moral superiority not enough?”

“Point taken. How about… you give me ten thousand dollars?”

“I haven’t got ten thousand dollars!”

“Why not? We make more than enough, and it’s not like we have any major expenses.” There was a note of concern in her voice, but Raymond ignored her. “You could give me the broomstick you fly here on every morning.”

“Fighting talk from someone with the end of a broomstick under their nose.”

“It is practical and stylish, something that can’t be said about your cloven hooves.”

“Enough foreplay. I’ve decided what I want: I want to set you up with someone.”

This was not what he had expected to hear. “If those are your terms… I accept. After all, I can always reject whoever you put in front of me.”

“That’s the spirit.” Madeline sighed, exasperated. “Anyway, what do you want? Someone to make financial decisions for you?”

Again, Raymond ignored her. “I want you to admit that I am the greatest detective/genius out of the two of us.”

“Since it will never happen, I agree. On a _completely_ unrelated note, weren’t you the one saying that bragging rights weren’t enough?”

Raymond didn’t have a response for that. 

“You might have won this battle, Madeline, but you have not won the war.”

“Is what the Anglo Saxons said at the Battle of Stamford Bridge.”

“THEY WERE FIGHTING DIFFERENT PEOPLE!”

* * *

“Raymond, I need to ask you a favour.”

“What kind of favour? I refuse to charm the snakes in your hair.”

“You are in no position to make fun of anyone’s hair Raymond. Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to ask. I’m going on a date tonight, and- “

“With whom? How did you meet? I do not want to overstep, but- “

“I get it, I’m married to my job. Christmas is coming up; my parents are going to tell me enough times.” She rolled her eyes. “We met at a history seminar, I gave him my number, and last night he called me and said he wanted to meet at a Spanish restaurant.”

“I am happy for you! What do you need me to do?”

“Not tell anyone where I am. If the captain tells me to ‘get some’ one more time- “

“I understand. Your secret is safe with me.”

He felt the conversation was over, but Madeline did not appear to think so.

“Also, what should I wear: trousers feel a bit too work like- “

“The only purpose of clothes is to keep you at an appropriate temperature and provide a sense of status. Wear whatever provides you with that.”

“But most women- “

“Do what makes you feel comfortable. If he cannot accept that, then he is not worth your time.” Raymond continued. “You said it yourself, when we first met. Give people the respect that they give you.”

Madeline looked at him, a strange expression on her face.

“Thank you, Raymond, I needed to hear that.” She put a hand on his shoulder, and with that parting gesture, she left. 

Raymond smiled as he watched her leave. To an outsider, their relationship seemed to built upon jealously and trying to outdo each other. However, if one were to look a little deeper, they would see the true foundation of their friendship: one of loyalty, trust, and a shared love of doing what was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t think they understand what a work-life balance actually means.
> 
> If you don’t already know the story of Admiral Yi Sun-sin I highly recommend the Extra Credit videos on him.
> 
> Watch out for Madeline’s date- he might show up a bit later…


	4. Mason Packaging Inc.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pair team up with some familiar faces to solve a case.

As usual, Madeline was early to work. She sat down opposite Raymond and began doing paperwork, avoiding eye contact.

“Madeline, how was your date?”

Raymond did a quick analysis of her appearance. Her clothes were freshly washed and ironed, indicating that she had not spent the night anywhere, and her immaculate ponytail suggested that she had gone to bed at a reasonable hour as she had willingly woken up early enough to do said styling. However, she did not seem particularly angry or upset, which meant that the date could not have gone _that_ badly. 

“Did your engagement… go well?” he asked, already suspecting that he knew the answer. 

Madeline looked up. “It went reasonably well. The food was good considering the price point, and my date was nice enough, if a little distant. I know you don’t want to hear anymore- “

“I care about you as a person, and if you would like to go on- “

“Good, because I would like to.” She beckoned him forward, obviously not wanting to be overheard. “He was very clean cut. About six foot tall. Strawberry blonde hair, freckles on his right hand- I sound like I’m describing a perp, don’t I?” 

“A little.” Raymond admitted. 

“Anyway, he seemed pretty normal, nothing amiss there. He said he was studying classics at university- he did seem like the academic type. What was odd,” she dropped her voice even lower “Was how he seemed to be… hiding something. Do I sound crazy?”

“You are the second-best detective I know; I trust you on your judgements. Continue.”

Madeline ignored the subtle jibe. “Well, I asked him about his family, and he obviously didn’t want to talk about it. So I asked him about his previous relationships, and he didn’t give me a committal answer beyond saying he ‘didn’t do this often’- neither do I, I’m not one to judge, but he just seemed weirdly coy about it.”

“Some people are uncomfortable with talking about previous partners on a first date. It is, in my opinion, illogical, but it could be the case for him.” 

“That isn’t the strangest part! When it came to dessert, the waiter suggested that we share the flan, which we did. Perhaps I overstepped as it _was_ a first date, but I took a spoon and tried to feed it to him, and maybe it was too soon but… he flinched. Like he didn’t want to be touched. Does that seem strange?”

“It could be circumstantial. I think your comment about the first date is accurate: some might consider it too much, like myself. There is also the possibility that he struggles with physical affection. Do you have any other evidence?”

“Nothing concrete- I obviously didn’t attempt to kiss him, given what happened, but there was something not quite right about him. I know that’s illogical, but it was there.”

“I see. Is it a big enough issue that it would prevent a second date?”

“I don’t know. I’m going to wait to see if he calls up, as I otherwise enjoyed myself.”

The pair resumed their paperwork, clearly wanting to be assigned new cases as quickly as possible. In Madeline’s absence, Raymond had taken the lead and was now two arrests ahead of her. Putting patrols on the back of clubs at night never failed to reveal illicit substances, but it was the felony offences he was really after. And doing good for the community. Of course.

****

####  **January 1983**

* * *

“And done!” Madeline signed her paperwork with a flourish and began to carry it to Captain Brandt’s desk. 

“Not so fast!” Raymond hastily filled out the last few words on his sheet, and run-walked to catch her. Even though this was not part of the bet he was loathed to let her win at anything. They entered the office at the exact same time, putting their paperwork down in unison.

“Any more cases officer?”

“No! For the last fucking time, I’ll let you know when there are!”

They both walked out of the office, heads hung and ignoring Brandt’s comments about ‘needing to get some’. But before either of them could say anything, the captain poked his head out of the door and called them back in.

“Fresh from One Police Plaza: they want the best detectives to work a warehouse arson. You’ll have to deal with some detectives from the 99th precinct, but you can get joint credit, can’t you?” 

“Of course we will, that is how the NYPD distributes numbers- “

“No no no, on your little game! Since you started it your numbers have been through the roof and I am LOVING it!” 

“Didn’t you say that we needed a healthy work-life balance?”

“Oh come on you two, you know what I mean. We all know why you started that little bet, getting close, doing _everything_ together- “

“It is not a stupid bet, it is war! War on Wuntch!”

The captain threw his head back in laughter. “I love the energy! Keep it up on this new case!”

A brief explanation of the case later and the pair left the room, fresh paperwork in hand. 

“This seems relatively straightforward.”

“I’m glad you’re so confident. No motive, no pattern, we don’t even know how they started the fire!”

“Firstly, it was clearly started by diesel, you can tell from the marks on the side.”

“Sure, but nobody can see a pattern! They could strike any time, at random!”

“Nothing is ever random! People cannot just set things on fire! They need to work out how and when to do it so as not to get caught. There will be traces somewhere, and we just need to find them.”

“Great, and how are we going to do that?” Madeline could not keep the derision out of her voice. 

“Judging by this sheet, it is not our job to.”

* * *

“Detectives Hitchcock and Scully at your service.”

“We finish cases quick, and ourselves-.”

Madeline cut him off. “We get the idea. How far have you come with investigating the crime scene?”

“We know who did it- “

“-and why.”

“That’s great news! Who- “

“You wanna know how?”

“We used a spy.”

“That’s very interesting- “ Madeline began, but she was cut off again.

“And it looks like- “

“We didn’t even try! Bring it in!” The pair threw themselves into a chest bump which devolved into a multi-step handshake. While they were in the middle of this Raymond leant over to Madeline.

“Are they going to do this every time they speak?”

“For the sake of my sanity, I hope not.”

The pair in front of them finished up their handshake with primal shouting and fist bumping. The precinct around them, inexplicably feeding off the energy, felt the need to make various animal noises accompanied by wild hand gestures. 

“Do they really think that this kind of nonsense is going to help them solve crimes?”

Madeline sighed. “No, I think that most men are just like this. It’s the main reason I’m single.”

Raymond thought back to the one fateful day that he had let his ex-boyfriend take him to a gay bar. The ‘music’ they had played haunted him to this day. 

“Agreed.”

* * *

Fortunately, after about half an hour, everyone seemed to have calmed down enough for the four of them to do some actual police work. Raymond had to grudgingly admit that Hitchcock and Scully, when not talking in alternating sentences or shouting, were actually very good at their jobs. They had not actually used an undercover agent, claiming they had said spy to ‘keep up the flow’. They had come to a reasonable conclusion that the building that had been burnt down- the headquarters of Mason Packaging Inc.- had likely been damaged by a competitor who wanted them out of the market. They may not have a concrete idea of the perpetrator, but they had a lead, which was enough for the captain, who high-fived the two new detectives as they walked out. 

The one with the flat top haircut began to talk. “So we’ve got a motive- “

“We’ve got a lead.”

“The suspect’s face- “

“Is all we- “

Madeline snapped. “Look, I’m fine with your stupid handshakes but can you please stop finishing each other’s sentences? It is _beyond_ annoying.”

“-Need?” Flat Top finished, bearing the expression of a naughty schoolboy. 

“Fine, just because you two are jealous.”

Raymond and Madeline both felt appalled at the idea that they would ever want to dramatize every sentence, but since the new detectives had mercifully agreed to stop they didn’t push it. Hitchcock – or was it Scully? – spoke up. 

“I say we go through the records of the Mason place and see what they were doing before they- “

“Dude, they were burnt. That’s kind of the point.”

“Sorry dude. We could ask the owner?”

“Most excellent idea my dude.”

“Yes, that is a good idea. Do we know where he is?” 

“Yeah, he died in the fire. Least he didn’t have kids.”

“Shit. Fucking fantastic!”

“Dude, it’s not over. We can talk to the manager. He lives in Queens, 4th Avenue.”

“Look, I applaud your efforts but,” Madeline sighed. “Must you say ‘dude’ so much?”

Hitchcock and Scully both stared at her, scandalised.

“Dude, you don’t get it!”

* * *

Two hours later, the four of them were driving to Queens. Despite all four of them sharing the same rank, they had silently agreed that Raymond and Madeline were in the front, with Hitchcock and Scully spread across the back. They were singing, much to Raymond’s dismay.

“Wo-oah here we come- “

“We’re the MANHUNTERS!” They both howled in a vaguely musical fashion. 

“Are we going to listen to actual music?”

“Dude this is number one right now, it’s as real as it gets!”

The pair in the front exchanged the briefest moment of eye contact. Madeline might be more in tune with popular music (and culture in general) than Raymond, but she also had a lower tolerance for the two men currently bastardising it. That being said, Raymond vaguely recognised the song; it was a staple of the radio that played at the sports bar each night, which was where he was spending an increasing amount of his time after work. This did not make Hitchcock and Scully’s rendition any better. 

After what felt like an eternity, the four of them reached the apartment. Madeline raised her hand to knock, but Hitchcock or Scully stopped her. Raymond still had no idea who was who.

“We have a theory.”

“It’s not a theory, the place was burned down for insurance, for sure.”

“He might try to run for it, so if we guard the exits- “

“You two do the talking.”

“That sounds like a good plan, but aren’t we supposed assume innocence before guilt?”

“It’s just a backup plan.”

“Yeah, just in case things go south.”

“You know what else goes down south. This di- “

“Go to the doors.”

“Ok, but I still think it’s insurance frauuuud…”

“You heard me! Go to the doors!”

They took the cue and went to cover the exits. 

“NYPD, open up! You haven’t done anything wrong; we just want to ask some questions.”

The door opened the tiniest crack, and a brown eye appeared at the door. 

“Hello, I’m Detective Wunch and I’m here to ask some questions- “

“I don’t know you.” The man sounded scared. He spoke with a thick accent that Raymond couldn’t quite place.

“Of course you don’t, I’m with the police,” Madeline said in a tone of voice normally reserved for the elderly or mentally disabled. “May I come in?”

“My name is Mlepnos.”

Despite being a relatively short woman, Madeline had to bend down to look the man in the eye. 

“That’s good to know, but I need to ask some questions.”

There was a sliding of an internal bolt, and the door was opened just wide enough to let a relatively thin person in. Madeline entered, but as Raymond made to follow the door was pushed to. 

“Only one.”

“I really do want my colleague here- “

“Madeline it is fine, I will be just outside if you need me.”

A few minutes passed without event. The only sound was that of muffled talking and the low buzz of the filament lamp above them. There seemed to be no sound of a scuffle, and if the silence of the walkie talkies was anything to go by, all was well. A few more minutes passed. And then a few more. At one point, Hitchcock/Scully radioed in to ask if ‘everything was coolio’. He assumed from context that yes, everything was, indeed, coolio. 

Almost an hour later, Madeline walked out of the door, notebook in hand. 

“He seemed… unhinged, to say the least, but we got what we needed. He says that he was in an ongoing war with a Mr., wait for it… Dixon.”

Raymond had to stop himself from laughing. “Is that a real name?”

“I asked that! He says it is, and that Mason that was the fake name. He mentioned something about ‘Mason’ not trusting people. Anyway, he’s certain Dixon did it.”

“Excellent work, but you took an awfully long time! What else was there?”

“I had to copy down everything that he said for legal reasons… here, take the notebook.” Madeline roughly thrust it over to him, causing Raymond gave her a concerned look.

“I’ve copied all of the important information onto this one page, don’t worry.” She held up said page, and with that reassurance, Raymond began to look through.

“Dogs losing their virginity… Latvian farms… he certainly had a lot to say, didn’t he?”

“It would have been far more interesting if I wasn’t trying to track down an arsonist.”

Raymond flipped to a page at random. “Well, if we ever need a fiddler for a wedding, we know where to call!”

Madeline’s expression went from vaguely entertained to upset.

“Raymond, none of us are having a wedding.”

Raymond looked perplexed. “I may have come to terms with the fact that I cannot get married, but why shouldn’t you?”

Madeline sighed, her expression deepening. Raymond continued.

“I am sure there is one good man for you out there _somewhere_ -

Madeline replied abruptly. “Yes, I know- they’res this one guy- it doesn’t matter. Let’s get Hitchcock and Scully.” 

“Hitchcock and Scully… Maybe they can have a wedding?”

“They can’t marry each other!”

“Even if they could, they would not, I assure you they are _aggressively_ heterosexual…”

* * *

The group were sat in a police car headed back to the precinct. 

“Yeah, maybe we were wrong about the whole running duck thing.”

“You definitely were.” 

“No need to rub it in dude!”

“Anyway, we got the info, let’s ride.”

“Do we know where Dixon lives?”

“Probably in a shady warehouse- “

“Ooh! What about a volcano lair?”

“Dude, he’s a guy who makes cardboard boxes, not a supervillain! Mason would have the volcano so he could burn insurance documents. “

Raymond cut in. “The volcano would set fire to his cardboard boxes!”

“Point to Scully!”

Raymond continued. “The warehouse is the more obvious option, but have you considered the moisture? Those boxes would lose all structural integrity! “

“It’d be hard to burn down though.”

“Yeah, you’d need something real hot- “

“Like your ex-wife?”

“Yeah, she was fucking psycho. Burn down the place just cause she could.”

“Age-old story- looks can’t make up for a crazy-ass personality.”

“Tell me about it.”

Raymond laughed. “I once had an ex who broke up with me over a duck.”

“Just a duck?”

“Well, they were also sleeping with their co-worker _Dave_ , but that is beside the point, it is a long story- “

“We’ve got time.”

“Yeah, was she a running duck?”

After a comprehensive retelling of Raymond and ‘Lily’s’ relationship, Raymond had warmed up to the two boys considerably. They might be loud and boisterous and act like stereotypical jocks who might appear in one of his sister’s teen movies, but at heart they were kind, dedicated to their jobs, and surprisingly well educated about societal issues. Raymond was animatedly sharing an anecdote about a perp named the Disco Strangler.

“…So I said, ‘Disco went out of style, and so will you’, and now he’s looking at life in prison, the slippery bastard.”

Hitchcock and Scully both burst into uproarious laughter, and Raymond couldn’t help but smile. Despite their rocky start, they were now getting along famously. It felt very strange to ‘josh around’ and be ‘one of the boys’, but he was glad that he was. It was almost enough for him to get over his rejection from the Brighton Beach golf trip. 

On the other hand, Madeline did not seem to be having a good time. She had not said a word since getting into the car, beyond assuring Raymond that she was fine when asked. He did not press her further. That did not mean that he thought that she was really fine. He guessed that this was the end result of spending an hour talking to a man obsessed with a dog’s virginity. 

But this did not seem quite right. He cast his mind back to other times he had seen her upset. Although he was notoriously poor at comforting people, he had assumed that he was Madeline’s best (and possibly only) friend, and should, therefore, be the person who knew what she was feeling. And at this moment, he was not. He assumed it was somehow linked to the wedding comment, and he had no idea why. Why shouldn’t she get married? Nobody was stopping her; almost everyone in her life would like nothing more! It was confusing beyond belief.

The car pulled into the precinct, where the unlikely squad bundled out. Raymond assigned Madeline the relatively easy but laborious task of finding out where Dixon lived: he hoped the tedium would take her mind off whatever was getting her down. In the meantime, the three remaining people settled down to start off their paperwork. Raymond found himself admiring the other two’s sheets, enraptured by the efficiency with which they completed it. 

“Hey.”

Hey. He had just said hey. The ‘bro’ persona really was infectious. He mentally justified it by saying that using a greeting like that concealed the fact that he still had no idea who was who. 

“I’ve found a few potential addresses for Dixon, but if I’m interrupting something, I’ll wait.”

Madeline had returned. It appeared that repetition had not taken her mind off things. 

“We were just doing some paperwork!”

* * *

“Toby Dixon, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent-”

“I didn’t fucking do it!”

“That’s what they all say. Get in the car.”

“Gimme one fucking shred of proof and I’ll turn myself in, but you won’t, because I didn’t. Fucking. Do it.”

“You and Mason were bitter rivals, and you wanted to get rid of your competition.”

Dixon snorted. “What fucking competition. Mans business was going to shit cause I stole all his customers! That fag-”

Raymond decided to step in. “I think we have heard enough. Hitchcock, Scully, take him to the car. Madeline- “

“Take notes. On it.” 

Dixon’s voice cut over the commotion. “-Insurance money!”

* * *

“Did we just arrest someone with insufficient evidence?”

Raymond and Madeline stared through the mirror into the interrogation room. Madeline was wearing a thousand-yard stare, pen held to her lips. 

“Yes. Yes we did.”

* * *

“Hitchcock, Scully, you were right.”

“We always are, but elaborate.”

“About the insurance fraud. I believe him.”

“His story adds up. Mason’s business really was going down the drain.”

“So he bought an ungodly amount of diesel and… ended it.”

There was a silence among the group as their words lingered in the air.

Eventually, Scully broke the silence. “So, what did you do with Dixon?”

After a long pause, Madeline responded. “We set him free with an apology.”

“I understand his frustration about being falsely accused of arson, but was calling us ‘blue lifer faggots’ really necessary?”

“He just wasn’t a great dude, arson or no arson.”

“And he was stupid. One of you’s a girl!”

“Not the issue! Dude, do you even care about gay rights?”

“I can love two things!”

“Only two? Dude, do you even love me?”

While Hitchcock and Scully were exchanging banter, Raymond and Madeline turned to each other.

“I assume false arrests don’t count towards our bet.”

“Agreed. If anything, we should both lose a point. Now if you will excuse me, I am going to place some real bets with real money and get intoxicated as quickly as I possibly can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The characterisation of Hitchcock and Scully might not be 100% true to the show, but since we see so little of them when they were younger I decided to take some creative liberties. They now speak like they’re in Bill and Ted’s Most Excellent adventure because why not.
> 
> Maneater really was a number 1 in 1983- that year had so many good songs to choose from!
> 
> Mlep(clay)nos is canonically from Estonia. I don’t know what to do with that information but I’m glad I have it.
> 
> I *live* for your comments, even if I don't reply to them, so keep it up!


	5. Faulton Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bet reaches a conclusion, but not without one final twist.

####  **December 1983**

* * *

“Raymond, I cannot help but notice- “

“We are a week from the end of our bet? I- might have noticed.”

The pair were sat in Madeline’s new apartment: it could best be described as classy. The red and gold exterior corridor gave it a regal feel, accompanied by a prime location and a luxurious living room. The pair were in said living room, currently at opposite ends of a chessboard.

“And by that do you mean it is all you have been thinking about for the last month?”

“No!” 

Madeline stared at him, suggestively holding a knight.

“Maybe a,” Raymond shrugged. “Little bit.”

Madeline continued to stare. She slid the knight across the board. 

“Quite a lot, actually.”

She did not break eye contact. 

“Ok, it is all that I have thought about! Happy?”

She chuckled as she took one of his pawns. “That’s good, because I feel very similar. I like someone who shares my passion. Do you remember the terms of our bet?”

“No, despite it being the only thing I have thought of for the last month the potential outcomes never crossed my mind.” He placed his rook on the board, removing the white rook that was currently sat there.

“Ok, no need to be sarcastic. The point is- “

“You are in absolutely no position to tell _anyone_ not to be sarcastic!”

“That is irrelevant. The point is, I want to review my terms.”

“About you setting me up with somebody?” Noticing a weakness, she picked up her remaining rook.

“No, about us becoming joint commissioners- yes, of course about that!”

“Go on.”

“Firstly, you cannot just reject whoever I put in front of you. You have to give them a chance.” She swung her rook into his bishop, knocking it over. Unnecessary, but suitably dramatic. 

“Objection! What do you mean by a chance?” 

“At least get to know them a bit. Say, if you were to go to a restaurant, until the main course?”

“I would never leave in the middle of a meal; it would be impolite!” He moved his queen into a point in the middle of the board, safe from any attacks. 

“That makes things a lot easier. Secondly, if you do reject them, I want a clear and concise reason why.” 

“Whatever you say, Madeline ‘he didn’t like flan’ Wuntch.” This caused her to put her queen dangerously close to his king. 

“He didn’t call me back; it was hardly my fault! Also, I suspect that was not the only reason he rejected me.” Her queen was close, but not close enough. His knight took her queen without a hint of remorse. Amateur move, Madeline.

“What else- “

Madeline cut him off. “And third and most importantly, I get to choose how and when I set you up. That is to say, I don’t have to send you two off on a date straight away.”

“There would be nothing straight about our date anyway.”

Madeline pretended to be exasperated, but the smile she was poorly concealing was a giveaway. Said smile was likely concealing the rage she was feeling about losing her queen so early on. 

“So, is that agreed? Do you accept my terms?”

“I am sure that these terms will somehow have hideous, long lasting consequences that will only become clear once you have executed your evil plan, but yes, against all better judgement, I agree.”

Up, down, up again, go into fist, turn around, fist bump, tic tac toe, spread fingers, separation.

“I still do not understand why we created this.”

“Do we want to be outdone by Hitchcock and Scully?” 

“No, we do not.” Then, he was struck with a horrible thought.

“You are not… setting me up with one of them, are you?”

She smiled. “Would you… like me to?”

“Don’t even joke about that.”

She flashed him a cat like smile before moving a pawn to the end of the board, replacing it with a queen.

“I won’t. Checkmate!”

* * *

“And with two days to go, Madeline takes the lead!” Madeline dramatically drew a line on her side of the paper, removing the pen with a flourish. They had been neck and neck for the last week, breaking the 100 barrier two days previously. Now, Madeline stood on a podium, built upon the 112 people she had put into holding over the last year. 

“I guess I don’t need to remind you to buy a nice suit for your date.”

“And I guess I do not need to remind you to rehearse your grovelling for when you tell me that I am the superior detective/genius.”

“You’re right, you don’t need to remind me because it will never happen.”

“Is what people said about the Titanic sinking.”

“I’m the iceberg: you’re the titanic.”

“What, because you are a cold-hearted witch? We already knew that.”

“At least I have a heart.”

“In your freezer?”

The captain, who had been watching with baited breath up to the point, shouted over the hubbub of the precinct.

“Ok you two, handbags down. How do you two feel about a mob stakeout?”

“Captain, I’m not really sure that it will play to my strengths- “

“If you play your cards right there will be a _lot_ of arrests after about…two days?” 

Raymond and Madeline looked at each other, then at the captain.

“We’re in.”

* * *

Going a full weekday without arresting someone was a very strange sensation for both of them. There were so many criminals in plain sight, but just out of reach, rather like the end of a rainbow. Both self-professed workaholics, Raymond and Madeline had bought along a cold case to give the illusion of productivity. One would stand at the window and take notes, while the other looked at decade-old photographs, notes, and an assortment of paperwork. It was strange to think that at least a few of the people unknowingly looking at the camera were long dead. This particular cold case involved $142 million being stolen from a train and never discovered. It was widely believed to have been a four-person job, with the perpetrators being dubbed the ‘Faulton Street Four’. In fact, the apartment they were in was on Faulton Street, a mere two hundred metres from where the crime of the decade had taken place. All of this information had made up the majority of Raymond’s thoughts over the last four hours, and just like the many people who had looked at these files before him, he did not have any idea about how to progress the case. Much like Madeline’s heart, it was completely cold. 

“Ok, time to swap.” Madeline’s voice was completely emotionless. She had also had no luck with the case.

“You know, it’s strange to think that the people who stole all of that money were very likely in this apartment.”

“It is.” Raymond was looking at their site, which three people had just emerged from.

“Fuck it, I’m going to search this apartment. I’ve got nothing else to do.”

“Language!”

“I’m getting into character as a train robber.” She withdrew a cigarette from her trouser pockets, lighting it with a single flick. 

“There is no way that is allowed.”

“A train robber wouldn’t care. Now, how would I go about stealing $142 million? Would I hide it under this floorboard?” She lifted said floorboard experimentally. 

“Raymond? Come over here.”

“Unless it is the money I am staying on my post. What is it?”

“It’s a note… just a receipt from CVS. That’s disappointing.”

“What were you expecting, the names and addresses of everyone involved, just coincidently located here?”

Even though he couldn’t see her, he knew Madeline was rolling her eyes. 

“That would be nice, yes.”

“Take a look at the receipt. Was it from say… ten years ago?”

“I don’t know, it’s a mile long, curse CVS… actually, it is.” Madeline began to sound excited.

Not wanting to get his hopes up, Raymond pointed out that that was when the flat was last occupied.

“It’s true, people say it’s cursed. I’m still going to look at this receipt.”

“Madeline, are you ok?” Raymond whipped around before realising he was not supposed to take his eyes off the window. 

“This receipt doesn’t have any products on it.”

“It might be a coincidence- “

“What kind of receipt has no products on it? It’s just covered in random numbers.”

“It is probably just a joke. This site is well known among true crime fans.”

“It’s still worth pursuing. I’m contacting the precinct.”

“If you do that, they will think we are in trouble here!”

“Good point. I’m going to the bathroom.” She dropped the remains of her cigarette to the ground, stamping it out with her combat boot.

“DO NOT CONTACT THE PRECINCT! They’ll think something’s wrong!”

“I’m not stupid, I’m not going to!”

* * *

“Madeline, do you see what I see?”

“If by ‘what you see’ you mean several hundred semi-automatic weapons being taken out of our site with a lone guard then yes, I see what you see.” 

“Should we stop them?”

“I feel like we should, but can we do it in such a way that means you get the blame if everything goes wrong?”

“I am only agreeing because we need to move quickly, but yes, I agree.” He held out a hand but withdrew it quickly. 

“We don’t have time for our handshake!”

* * *

“Happy as I am to have taken so many weapons off the street, I do wish there had been more arrests involved.”

“Why? You won, fair and square.”

“Yes, but it would have been good for the safety of the city. I made an oath to serve and protect- “

“I get it. You won. I never thought I’d be so sad about being good at my job.”

“You did help- “

“But you got all the credit.”

“Yes, I did.” The bruises across his knuckles stood as a testament to that. 

“You are not good at sounding sympathetic.” 

“Would a couple of beers help with that?”

“It’s 9 AM. Besides, I still haven’t recovered from last night.”

“You look like you need- wait, why are you smiling? Why have you not called me an amazing detective/genius?”

Madeline was indeed smiling, as if she were a cat basking in a sunbeam. 

“You know the receipt I found?”

“Did you contact the precinct, the one thing that I, AS YOUR SUPERIOR OFFICER, TOLD YOU NOT TO DO?” He stood up and immediately regretted it. The pain from last night’s fight had not subsided.

“No, I didn’t, sit down. I contacted a taskforce, and they did some… research.”

“What kind of research?” He was beginning to feel nervous.

Madeline smiled even more broadly. “The kind that gets you…” She produced a file with a flourish. “…142 million dollars.”

Raymond froze. All he could do was stare. It was like his spine had decided to stop transmitting nerves. Eventually, his mouth began to form some semblance of a sentence.

“ _The_ $142 million?”

“No, just a random $142 million that they had lying around.”

“What- what happened?”

Madeline stood up, holding out a pen as though it were a presentation stick.

“So, one time a very wise man told me that ‘nothing is random’, so I looked at the numbers more carefully.” Raymond cursed himself for sharing his wisdom. “They were serial numbers, like one you might find on a banknote, you know where I’m going with this don’t you?”

Raymond gritted his teeth. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“So, I radioed the SWAT unit and told them what I found. They cross-referenced the numbers and yes, they did match up to the ones stolen. You might ask, how did I know that the bills were still in New York, or even America? That is your fault. I knew that I was right because while you were leaving out your bills for ironing, I noticed the serial number, and it matched up with one of the numbers on the receipt. I know you like to gamble, so I assumed that you won that money from the bookies you go to.”

“How do you know that?”

“Your poor money management combined with your pretence of liking sports bars. I’m not considered the best detective in Brooklyn for nothing.”

“You’re not even the best detective in this precinct!”

“Remind me who won our bet? Wait, you still think you did. Where was I?” Madeline put a finger to her lips, pretending to be deep in thought. “The part where the team searched the bookies, finding over 50 million in petty cash? Well, I guess we’re there now!”

Raymond looked livid. How could he have given away so much information about himself? 

“If it makes you feel any better, they only managed five arrests by midnight, so I didn’t beat you by much.”

“That is not what I am upset about.”

“One member of the Faulton Street four is still at large. When I get promoted you can be part of the taskforce that helps catch him.”

“Promoted! You didn’t mention that!”

“Well it hasn’t happened yet, but the captain said it was almost certain- that’s only made you more upset, hasn’t it.” For the first time, Madeline looked genuinely concerned. Caught up in the excitement of winning the bet and a promotion at the same time, she obviously hadn’t noticed the impact of her words. 

“Madeline, I’m completely happy for you. I don’t know why you think I wouldn’t be, I’m not a terrible friend-”

“You used four contractions. I’m not buying it.”

“Is my tell that obvious?”

“To your credit, it took me three years to work out.”

“What made you figure it out.”

“The first time we went to Chicago’s. It just didn’t sound like you, saying a sports bar was your favourite. You hate beer!”

“No I don’t!”

“You tipped it into the fake plant.” Madeline put her hands on her hips, knowing that once again, she had won. 

“Ok, maybe I did.”

“You definitely did, I saw you do it.”

“This conversation has reached a mutually satisfying conclusion.“ Raymond turned away, returning to his paperwork. 

“Not mutual! You have a problem- “

“Sorry, all I can hear is a faint buzzing sound.”

“If it’s got to the point where you’re willing to lie to your best friend just to be close to a bookie- “

“Buzz buzz, little bee- “

“Ok, this isn’t going to work. We’ll talk another time.”

“Suddenly the buzzing sound has stopped. Madeline! Or should I say, Sergeant Wuntch! When are you getting promoted?”

“I don’t know yet, but hopefully soon.” Her expression shifted. “I hope you can eventually be happy for me.”

“Madeline, I will always support your career advancement. You have been in the force longer than me, worked harder than anyone I know- you deserve this!”

“Maybe, but you seemed so annoyed earlier- “

“I do not like it when people point out my flaws, or are better at their jobs than me, no matter how petty that sounds. However, I can say, with complete confidence, that you are the best detective/genius that the NYPD has ever, and will ever, see.”

Suddenly, Madeline started to cry. She put her head on Raymond’s shoulder and let the tears fall onto his shirt, soaking into his skin.

“You’re a good friend, Raymond.”

To his own surprise, Raymond was crying too.

“So are you, Madeline.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I’ve written more about Wuntch then the writers of Brooklyn Nine-Nine.


	6. Flight 163-7457

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A seemingly simple case takes a distinctly action-movie esque turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains some *very minor* spoilers from season 7, meaning that this chapter might seem out of left field if you haven’t watched it yet. There is also violence in this chapter.

A few hours and a lot of tissues later, the pair of them pulled themselves together enough to be able to work. A simple B & E later, and they were back in full force, attacking cases with their usual efficiency and force. Almost back to usual, except for one thing: Madeline was now a sergeant. The captain had put through the paperwork and she had started today. Her first task? Give Raymond a comprehensive account of what had happened. 

“…And then he said that we were _boning_ , quite literally after he called me a virgin! Truly incredible. Anyway, how’s the Faulton Street case coming along?”

“Fairly well actually. All three of them were all too happy to turn each other in, doing anything to escape prison I guess.”

“They’re rich white men, they’res a good chance it will work.” Madeline sighed, both of them knowing all too well how the world worked.

“Will being rich help them if they stole all of their money?” 

“If their lawyers have anything to say about it, yes.” 

“I thought that all their money was seized by the SWAT team?”

“It was, but the money they made ‘legitimately’ through gambling is still theirs. People put half their paychecks into that shop, and this is what it pays for.” Madeline shot him a meaningful look. 

“If you are trying to argue with me about how I spend my own money, it is not going to work.” Raymond was clearly eager to change the topic. “So, what are you going to do about your half of the bet?”

“I said I could set you up whenever I liked. This is very important to me: I don’t want to blow it.”

“What, setting up one date?”

“If it goes well, it won’t be just one date. You said that you’d give them a chance.”

“That is true… do you have anyone in mind?”

“I’m not telling you.” said Madeline with almost childish defiance.

Knowing Madeline well, Raymond saw right through this. “You don’t have anyone in mind, do you?”

“Like I said, I’m not going to tell you in case you reject them straight away.”

Something clicked in Raymond’s mind. 

“Do you even know any gay men?”

“Well unless you count Hitchcock and Scully, but I’m at least somewhat sure that they’re together- “

“I stand by what I said about them being aggressively heterosexual.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t be so sure. They’re both gorgeous, they wear crop tops every day, neither of them can maintain a healthy romantic relationship with the opposite sex, they spend all their time together, they live together- “

“Not all gay men are attractive!”

“I know that, I spend every day with you.”

Raymond shot her a look, to which she responded with an over-the-top smile. “Crop tops are just fabric, they are not capable of having, or assigning to anyone, a sexuality. And-”

“Ok, I understand. I’m not going to set you up with Hitchcock or Scully, I just need you to trust the process. It doesn’t matter how long I have to wait for a suitable candidate, I _will_ find your future husband.”

“Madeline, we both know how few gay men there are in the NYPD, or in our lives in general, and even if there were, we are not all automatically attracted to each other- “

“Shush. I think I have someone in mind, I’m just not sure how to contact them.”

“So you admit that you have no idea what you are doing?”

“Trust. The. Process.”

####  **1985**

* * *

“Detective Holt! I have the perfect case for you!”

Captain Brandt sat himself where Madeline would normally be, his weight causing the chair to groan. He put his elbows on the desk, forcing himself forwards so much that he was practically in Raymond’s face. Brandt dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper

“Just to double check, you don’t have a bird, right? Any kids?”

“I do not. Why is that relevant?”

“Just checking. You’re gonna be a hero if this pulls through!” Raymond bent over to pick up the pages that had slid out, vaguely registering something about a plane. He read on, intrigued.

“Captain, is this case about…”

“The Payne train? You bet it is!”

Albert Payne was a name that every policeman in America had familiarised themselves with. International terrorist and crime boss, the media had dubbed his trail of destruction ‘The Payne Train’. He had recently been caught by the FBI and was being deported to New York to stand trial. This was common knowledge, having been incessantly mentioned on every news channel this side of the Atlantic. And for some unknown reason, captain Brandt wanted him to accompany him. 

“Captain, this looks like a difficult, high profile case. Are you sure that I am the right detective to lead it?”

“You’re the best detective we have, course you are!”

That was true. Mostly. 

“But what about Seargent Wuntch? She was in charge of the Faulton Street murders, has one of the highest arrest and clearance rates in the whole of Brooklyn- “

“You don’t _get_ it. Someone like your girlfriend won’t be taken seriously by the big guys. We need our own big guy, tough sounding. Girlie will probably freak out before the plane even takes off.” Brandt laughed sycophantically. 

Every single part of that statement made Raymond’s blood boil. He looked at the files in lieu of a proper response, trying not to shout about the injustice of it all. Saving his indignation for later, he composed himself enough to formulate a response. 

“I will consider the case and get back to you shortly.”

“Excellent!” And with that, Brandt strolled off, trying and failing to smoothly deposit the remaining case files onto Raymond’s desk.

Albert Joseph Payne, forty-eight years old, indicted on over six hundred counts of arms smuggling, embezzlement, sex trafficking, and countless other nefarious deeds. He was a difficult piece of work for sure. Even if the US legal systems’ obsession with bureaucracy were to cease for a second, the upcoming trial would still be drawn out and laborious. That is, if Payne even reached the courthouse. The FBI suspected that he was not going to go down without a fight. That was, in fact, the purpose of Raymond’s presence: to be on the plane and stop anything bad from happening. He would be accompanied by two FBI agents. Looking at their names, Raymond felt a pang of recognition. One of them was Bob Andersonn. 

Around twenty years his senior, Andersonn was one of the most respected agents in the FBI. Raymond had accompanied him on a stakeout a few years back. They had some good times: and by good times, he of course meant a mutual agreement to sit in silence and watch the world go by. And by the world, he of course meant a known serial killer who had foolishly believed that swimming around in a pool granted him some sort of protection. The Freestyle Killer was going to be behind bars for many years, and he was rather hoping the same would happen to their friend Mr Payne. In less than forty-eight hours, it would.

Assuming all went to plan.

After all, there was no reason to suspect otherwise.

Was there?

* * *

“Raymond, I am glad that we were partnered for this mission.”

Him and Andersonn were sitting in a police car on an exposed airfield in California. The sun was beating down mercilessly, and the lack of anything other than miles and miles of tarmac made seeking shelter impossible, the rising temperature inside the car making it feel as though they were in a sauna. The open windows were tempting in a breeze that seemed non-existent, the water Andersonn had given Raymond completely ineffective at cooling him down. They had even gone as far as to open up the sun roof, as even direct sunlight could not be worse than their metal prison. Desperate to distract himself from the sweat seeping into his shirt, Raymond looked at the most recent update for what felt like the hundredth time.

So far Payne’s journey had been uneventful, allowing himself to be taken from Ecuador without incident. This part of the journey was to be a little more difficult. In order to prevent Payne’s men knowing which plane their boss would be going on, a commercial flight would be selected at random, the only protection against civilians being two FBI agents and Raymond, all of whom were without weapons so as not to ‘arouse suspicion’. Raymond had staunchly objected to the plan; Andersonn had ignored him. All they could do was their jobs. Agent one had already boarded the plane as if he were a normal passenger, his iron grip on Payne the only thing indicating otherwise. All they could hope for was that none of the civilians would recognise one of the most notorious crime lords of the century. 

“Flight 163-7457 has now left the terminal. All officers should…”

The crackly radio tapered off; the end of the sentence replaced with static interspersed with random disjointed syllables. They thought nothing of it: they knew what they had to do. The concrete seemed to vibrate underneath them, the bullet-shaped ghost emerging on the horizon the only thing visible for miles. They did not have much time. Slamming down the acceleration, the car careered across the air field, the wind howling through the windows smacking their faces giving them their first respite from the blistering heat in hours. Raymond’s vison blurred as they surged forwards in a mess of metal and burning rubber. The engine roared louder as the car went faster, faster, faster. They could almost feel the axel turning under them. Then, as soon as they had started, Raymond yanked up the parking brake sending the car into an abrupt spin, tyres screeching in protest, a trail of rubber forming a figure of eight. Before they could come to a complete stop the pair of them threw themselves out of the doors and sprinted to the ladder being lowered from the slow-moving plane. Their bodies had grown accustomed to sitting; now, one foot after the other, they were scrambling up the ladder like their lives depended upon it, muscles fighting them every step of the way. After what felt like an eternity Raymond reached the top and hoisted himself onto the rubber bathroom floor, rolling over as he yanked his foot out of the trapdoor. Andersonn pulled himself up with far more grace than had been afforded to Raymond and shut the trapdoor. 

Step one complete. 

Raymond sat on the sticky rubber floor, panting. He noticed his sleeve had dragged through a substance that he hoped was water. He attempted to push himself up the wall and blindly reached towards the towel, causing his sweaty shirt to make contact with his back and send chills up his spine. He was in a state of delirium as he blindly stumbled on all fours towards the door. Andersonn shared none of his fatigue. He stood up and strolled towards the exit as though he were leaving a business meeting and not something that looked like a scene from an action movie. Without a word, he left the toilet and let the door slam behind him, presumably leaving Raymond to fend for himself. It was rather like being left for dead and reminded him that he needed to get his bearings, fast. Fortunately, the plane announcements cut through Raymond’s delirium with its usual clinical efficiency. 

“Hello, and welcome to Atlantic Airways. Refreshments are available on this flight. Please be aware of the life jackets under your seat.”

The announcements went on in a similar vein, Raymond tuning out most of it. He had never been on a plane before; consequently, the sensation of fluid filling up his ears was new to him and served as a rather unfortunate distraction from both his surroundings and his mission. With a sense of desperation, he summoned every last iota of strength in his body to pull himself together and stand up. Once he had done so he found himself thinking a lot more clearly, as though a fog had cleared in his brain. He looked down at his radio which had so far been silent since he had boarded the plane. That was weird. Agent one had said that he would tell them where they were sitting. He could only hope that it would become clear when he left. However, Raymond was not one to take chances and put the radio to his lips.

“This is Detective Holt, calling Agent One and Agent Andersonn.” A simple broadcast, one that would hopefully not pique the interest of civilians, but that would be instantly understood by his peers. A minute passed. No response.

“Detective Holt to Agents One and Andersonn?” This time, his broadcast was more tentative, as though he were asking a question. Still no response.

He was starting to get worried now. It was very unlike Andersonn to forget anything, his attention to detail being one of his most prominent traits. He began to formulate a plan. In the academy, they were taught that seeing someone twice could be suspicious, but seeing them three times called for actions. He decided to apply the same rules to radio calls and put out a third and final broadcast.

It garnered no response.

One of the first things taught to them in the academy was that is something did not feel right, it probably wasn’t. Raymond felt a heavy weight drop into the pit of his stomach. He didn’t know what was wrong, but he was sure he was about to find out. Steeling himself for whatever he was about to see, Raymond pushed open the door.

There were two men there. Agent Andersonn, and in his arms, Agent One.

Dead.

* * *

Raymond stood there in shock. He could not believe what he was seeing, he refused to. Agent One was limp in his arms, with a face that would be permanently contorted into an expression of shock. Blood was starting to soak through his shirt, the red circle around his heart expanding with every passing second. Blood was also dripping onto the floor from two gashes on his wrist, and the razor clutched in Andersonn’s hand provided little doubt as to how this had occurred. The blood on the knife at his throat was dry.

“Agent One, are you- “

Before Raymond had time to finish his sentence, Andersonn lunged at him, razor in hand. Raymond threw himself out of the way as Agent One’s body fell to the ground with a dismal thump, causing the other man to trip over it in his haste to get to Raymond. Adrenaline coursed through Raymond’s veins and heightened his already disoriented state. Blind rage overcame him as he blindly threw a punch at Andersonn, which the other man dodged effortlessly. He was showing no remorse for his actions, no sadness at killing one of his own. He did not even seem happy: in fact, the only expression on his face was one of mild satisfaction. He seemed calm as he slashed forwards with the blade, angled towards the face. 

He was aiming to kill. 

Raymond knew he should run but he didn’t know where; the plane was not big enough to hide and he didn’t want to upset the civilians, but his feet were carrying him out of the holding area and into economy class and into the cockpit –

Albert Payne was stood there, gun in hand, smoke still furling off the edge, a body beside him. He had a gun aimed to the pilot’s head and was speaking in a low whisper.

“So tell me, who’s in charge?”

“I am.”

Payne pressed the gun into the pilot’s hair.

“Tell me again: who’s in charge?”

“I- don’t know- “

Payne pulled the trigger. 

“I am.”

The pilot didn’t even have time to scream.

* * *

Payne looked up, instantly noticing Raymond. He didn’t say a word before pulling the trigger, but Raymond was one step ahead of him and the bullet lodged in the door he had perched himself behind. This didn’t stop Payne from peppering the door with bullets. Civilians were screaming almost loud enough to drown out the volley of bangs coming from Payne’s gun. Two flight attendants were cowering behind a trolley, fear etched into the non-existent lines of their faces. With a crash, Andersonn emerged from the toilet with Agent One’s blood coating his hands- and his knife. 

Raymond knew he had two choices. There was an emergency escape to his left: he could somehow put on a parachute and jump into the abyss, escaping with his life but leaving a hundred innocent people at the mercy of two psychopaths: alternatively, he could somehow fight Andersonn and Payne to give the civilians time to escape but, more than likely, would result in his death. An honourable death, but still a death. His mother would appreciate the medal. Both options were terrible to think about, but simple statistics showed which resulted a single murder and which would cause the worst massacre in US history.

It was time to serve and protect.

Throwing himself at the nearest row of seats, Raymond withdrew a lifejacket from under one of them and raised it above his head. Some small part of his brain registered that the gunshot had stopped meaning that Payne had hopefully run out of bullets. Raymond was not normally one to rely on hope, but in this case, it was all he had. He charged towards the man who had just stepped out of the cockpit door, bringing the thick rubber of the lifejacket down on his head. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Payne stopped for a single traitorous second, which was enough time for Raymond to deliver a single devastating throat punch. Payne gave the slightest cry of pain and began to fall back but Raymond was already focused on Andersonn, who was now advancing on him, knife raised. With a sense of reckless abandon which only came with accepting one’s death Raymond charged forwards, feeble excuse for a weapon raised. Then, like a bull drawn to a red cloth, Raymond charged and pinned Andersonn to the ground. He was the larger of the two men and he took advantage of that, smashing the lifejacket repeatedly to his head. Andersonn grabbed his tie and pulled Raymond closer, grasping at his neck. One well placed kick made Andersonn howl, searing pain consuming his entire body and giving Raymond just enough time to relinquish his grip on his knife. He wanted to plunge the knife into Andersonn’s chest but instead satisfied himself with standing up and stamping onto his windpipe, rendering him unconscious- for now. 

Unfortunately, the threat was far from over. Payne had recovered and taken control of the plane. To Raymond’s horror, the glamorous flight attendants that appeared to have cowered in fear earlier were now stewarding passengers into the cockpit, with all who protested finding themselves looking down the barrel of a revolver. Payne had forced his way out of the cockpit and was physically forcing passengers in. Raymond felt as though he should be doing something but he also knew that he was outmanned and outgunned, and all he could do was watch in horror as the scene unfolded and pray that they did not get bored and start shooting civilians. 

“Anything to say, pig?” one of the flight attendants taunted. Her sneer was rather undercut by a large amount of botox rendering it impossible for her to move her face. This moment of levity brought Raymond to his senses just enough to notice a stir behind him. Andersonn had woken up and was now stumbling down the aisle like a zombie. Raymond whipped around and made to react but before he could do anything, Payne snatched a handgun from one of the flight attendants and emptied it into Andersonn’s chest. He then turned it to point directly at Raymond and began to talk with a heavy accent Raymond couldn’t quite place.

“Look, I don’t want to kill you.”

“You just killed an FBI agent, why would you care about me?”

“He knew too much, could have told anyone. You, on the other hand, know _jack shit_.”

Raymond did not like being told he was bad at his job. “I don’t know nothing; I know that you are trying to kill people and take over the plane!”

“Well done on your detective work. It’s almost like that’s your job or something.”

Payne should have been threatening, especially given the fact that he was a seasoned killer, but that particular phrase sounded so much like something that Madeline would idly taunt him with that he found his fear dissolving. A sense of – probably misguided – calm overcame him. 

“Albert Payne, I am going to have to ask you to put down that gun and let the passengers go.”

“Wow, I wasn’t going to do it before but now that you’ve _asked me nicely…_ ” Sarcasm dripped off his every syllable. He sounded so much like Madeline that it made his heart ache. 

“You are not invincible Albert. You cannot kill every single one of the passengers, and even if you do, what will you do with the bodies?” Raymond knew that this was precisely the wrong thing to say to comfort civilians, but he thought that the mention of gratuitous violence might appeal to Albert. And by the looks of it, he was right. Raymond continued. 

“They would be far more valuable as hostages.”

It wasn’t ideal, but it would keep them alive. Albert seemed to be considering. 

“Yeah- I know.” he said in the tone of exasperation Madeline used when she knew she had been outsmarted but was too proud to admit it. It felt very insensitive to compare his closest friend to a mass murderer, yet it was strangely fitting. 

“You know what… I’m willing to make a deal. If you let me drive this plane, I’ll drop everyone in New York and then fuck off.” 

Raymond thought about it. They both knew that this flight was being closely monitored, meaning he likely would have to land at some point. Raymond also knew that he wouldn’t want the extra weight of a hundred or so people if he could help it, meaning there was no reason not to let them off. The only thing not accounted for was him. In a split second, he formulated a plan.

“You have yourself a deal, given that I can sit in the cockpit and make sure you are indeed going back to New York.”

“Sure thing, prettyboy.” He gave a hand signal making one of the flight attendants opened the door, releasing the tide of passengers. At first, they were reluctant to come out, but as soon as Payne withdrew his gun they were all too eager to do whatever he said and resume their original seats. 

“I will take the role of co-pilot.”

Raymond had no idea what the role of co-pilot entailed, and the numerous dials and buttons in front of him were not helping matters. All he could do was pray that Payne would make good on his promise to fly back to New York. 

The hours went by slowly, stretched out by paralysing fear. The passengers were made to sit in complete silence. At one point a baby started crying; this triggered Payne to come out the cockpit and empty his gun into a window, sucking out the glass panel and making even more noise, which made the baby cry even harder, making Payne take the remaining gun and fire even more shots, making the baby cry more- it was an endless cycle, only stopped by the mother shoving a scarf into the baby’s mouth. But finally, the familiar New York skyline came into view. It was the first thing that had gone right the entire flight. 

Payne pulled the microphone to his lips. “We are now approaching New York. If anyone asks you what happened on this flight you are to say that it was normal. If you dare say otherwise... well then,” Payne gave a sickly-sweet laugh. “I. Will. Kill. You.”

Payne was true to his word, and touched down at JFK airport, just as the tickets had promised. The door opened and the passengers sprinted out, most not bothering to collect their hand luggage. One of the flight attendants took care of that, sweeping bags into her arms and hurling them out of the door. The other one went out with the passengers, and by the sound of it was removing suitcases. It only took a matter of minutes, the process quickened by a complete lack of regard of both safety and property. Before Raymond knew it she was back on board and the engine was turned on and, in a move that he was sure violated piloting laws in at least some way, the plane swung around and took off. 

As soon as they were above cloud level Payne began to speak.

“You might be wondering what I’m gonna do with you.”

Raymond remained silent.

“Is there anyone special in your life? Anyone who gives a fuck if you die?”

Raymond recalled the captain’s words from when he was first given this mission. He did not have anyone special in his life. His mother and sister, he supposed. They were not particularly close, but they would at least be upset if he died. His ex-boyfriends would probably find out somehow. The only other person he could think of who could be considered close to him was Madeline. 

“Yeah,” said Raymond, “a few people.”

“Your mum, your sister, and your girlfriend.”

That was a fairly accurate assessment. Presumably, Payne had studied who would be guarding him.

“Well, first, I’m gonna murder you. Then I’ll cut your body up into little pieces. Your girlfriend will get your dick, she has needs after all!” Payne laughed a hideous laugh. “I’ll throw the rest of it out the window, all over the Pacific.”

Threatening to send his non-existent girlfriend his penis was one thing, but sloppy geography was another. 

“We are flying over the Atlantic.”

“Not where we’re going.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll never find out.”

Payne snapped his fingers. One of the flight attendants entered the room and stood next to the chair he was currently pulling himself out of. She moved over and tipped Raymond out of the co-pilot seat, only to be replaced by the other flight attendant. Payne dragged Raymond out of the room by his bloodstained collar. Vaguely, he heard the two women 

“How do you feel- “

Payne never got to finish his sentence. Raymond leapt at him, one hand on his collar and the other on the back of his shirt. He threw the other man into a chair, face smashing into the head. Payne blindly reached back and grabbed the front of Raymond’s shirt, sending buttons flying. Raymond found himself flying onto the seats, spread eagle across the row. He regained his footing quickly and advanced on Payne, who by now had obtained a gun. Raymond ran forwards and found the cold metal pressing against his now bare chest. 

“One more smart move and I shoot- “

“The gun is empty. You can’t pull that shit on me.”

For the first time, Payne’s maniacal voice seemed to have a touch of fear. “What makes you think that?”

Raymond took the advantage and sent a clean punch flying at Payne’s face. It met its mark and smashed into the side of his nose, giving a sickening crunch. Blood began to pour down his face as Raymond slotted a hand into the back of his hair and forced him to bend over onto the seat, winding him on the armrest. 

“You used your first gun on the door. “

Raymond forced his head into the seat.

“The second gun on the window. “

He wrenched the gun out of Payne’s hand.

“And the third gun – “

He pulled the trigger. A single bullet hit the carpet beneath them.

“-On the floor. Albert Payne, you are under arrest.”

He removed his tie, unravelled it to its full length, and then tied Payne’s hands, slipping the knot over the armrest for good measure. It was moments like this when he was thankful of his extensive knowledge of haberdashery. That being said, he was still going to handcuff Payne to the chair when he had the chance. He went into the cockpit to retrieve the handcuffs that most planes had only to find the two flight attendants still flying the plane. He withdrew the gun from his waistband. It might be empty but they didn’t know that- and he still had his knife just in case. He braced himself for an attack.

“I am going to need you to fly back to New York- “

“On it.” And just like that, the plane began to turn. He had been expecting more resistance, an objection at least.

“How do I know that you are actually going back to New York?”

“There isn’t enough fuel to go anywhere else.”

“Yeah, we had like, an hour of circling JFK at most.” 

“We work for Payne, but we don’t _really_ work for Payne, he was planning to ditch us and let the plane crash- “

“So, we learned to fly it.”

“People underestimate us because we’re pretty women.”

Raymond paused for a second, letting these shocking revelations sink in. He also knew a woman who constantly got underestimated, and who would go to equally extreme lengths. He just had one more question.

“But if he is such a misogynist, which I am sure he is, how did you get into business with Payne in the first place?”

The girls paused for a second before the one on the right answered. 

“Pure fucking desperation.”

If she was saying what Raymond thought she was saying, he understood. 

“What is our ETA?”

* * *

“Detective, nice job on the Payne train! Or should I say, the Payne Plane! “

“Thank you, captain. I am almost done with the paperwork. No doubt the media has already started talking about it.”

The captain talked over him. “It was on the news, that shit was insane! Medal of Valour in it for sure. Speaking of the media, the phone wants you; something about a movie?” 

“That sounds... intriguing. Pass them over.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In episode 7x12, Holt said that one of his cases got adapted into an action movie. My knowledge/interest in 90’s plane-based action movies is extremely limited at best, so this chapter is written based on IMDb plot summaries combined with the one time I went on a plane.


	7. 99th Precinct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two iconic duos reunite to bust a steroid ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter makes reference to season six, specifically episode two: even if you haven't watched the episode, it will still make sense!
> 
> There is also a mildly NSFW reference, but nothing outside the mature rating of this fic.

####  **1986**

* * *

The gym was somewhere that Raymond was not particularly familiar with. It was not like he was unfit- chasing perps every day made sure of that- it was that the bro-fisting, frat-boy culture that he had always felt ostracised from was so inherently associated with the place that he couldn’t stand to go in. He knew that his chances of blending into this atmosphere were almost zero: that was why the two men sat opposite him had been sent in instead.

“Hitchcock, did you get any information on the sale?”

“Yeah, we did. We know who’s selling it and where they’re getting it from.”

“That is good news.”

This piqued Madeline’s interest. “Why didn’t you arrest them for possession? This kind of steroid is a class A drug, he clearly meant to sell it on.” 

“First off Sarge, it’s a class B drug at best. Also, the man’s a personal trainer meaning it’s legal to have under ‘certain circumstances.’” Scully put air quotes around the last two words.

“You could have at least have found out how he got it.” She sounded disgruntled. 

“We did, we’re not stupid!” Hitchcock gave an arrogant laugh. “We couldn’t just _ask_ him where he got it from, we’d sound like cops.”

“He probably doesn’t even know where it came from, dude’s a PT not a kingpin!” 

“So we bought some off him.”

“You did WHAT?”

“We didn’t _use it_.” Scully winked.

“You of all people should know the danger of street drugs! It could be laced with anything!”

“Dude, we didn’t actually use it.” Raymond and Madeline stared at him suspiciously. “Like, for real.” he added under their continued glares.

“We sent it to the lab to work out the purity. See how much of it was actual steroids and how much was castor oil, like last time.”

“So we can know how close to the source this particular gym is.” Raymond finished. 

“Yeah, no shit. We went to drugs training too.”

“So we just got the lab results back and you’ll never believe this- “

“It’s almost clear.”

“Purer than a catholic school girl.”

Madeline winched. “So what you’re saying is - “

“We’re pretty damn close.”

“It’s in the city for sure, so we get to keep the case.”

“Chances are he gets it straight off the supplier, so that means- “

“It’s stakeout time, baby!” The man Raymond suspected was Hitchcock wolf-whistled.

* * *

“It is eight o’clock, and the lorry is unloading.”

“Can’t tell what’s in it, but it looks shady.”

“Yeah- actually, that’s a fuck tonne of steroids. You reckon they’res anything else in there?”

“What, a kilo of cocaine just for funzies?”

“I believe you said that as a joke,” Raymond looked down his binoculars, “But I think you may be right. That _is_ a lot of steroids, far more than would ever be realistically used by a relatively small gym.”

“Dude, that place is massive. You ever seen a small gym?”

“Do you even lift bro?”

Raymond felt a hot flush creep up his cheeks. “I don’t like that gym. I’ve always been more partial to casual cardio.”

This answer satisfied Hitchcock and Scully but not Madeline, who shot him a reproachful look. He pretended not to see it. 

“Are they seriously still unloading?”

“Yup. That’s a lot, dude.”

“Could just be green beans. You need ten cups of that shit to feel a thing.”

“Green beans are for people who believe in metabolic windows.”

Scully put on a mocking voice “What, you mean chugging creatine thirty-one minutes before starting means I lose all my gains?”

“Pretty much dude. Just PR straight away to get them back.”

“Curl it in the squat rack, everyone will love you.”

Raymond looked over at Madeline. She looked as confused as he felt. 

“Are they going to speak English?”

“They could be speaking Russian and I would understand the same amount.”

The lorry finally pulled away, taking the men with them. The only trace of its presence was the huge stack of unknown packages left at the gym door.

One of the boys broke the silence. “Could we just… take them?”

Madeline rolled her eyes at this foolish suggestion. “Not a chance, nobody in their right mind would leave that many packages unattended.”

The pair took that and ran with it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about man, I haven’t seen 50 kilos of cocaine?”

“Yeah, what do you mean 49 kilos of cocaine? That would be insane!”

“Dude, if you don’t hand over,” Hitchcock mimed hiding something behind his back. “48 pounds of cocaine, we’re gonna arrest your ass. Excuse me, I’m dying some reason.”

Madeline was unimpressed. “Probably because 49 kilos to 48 pounds of cocaine would be about a quarter of the average person’s body weight.”

“Exactly, that shit would kill you.”

Madeline conceded defeat. “Let’s just take some photos and leave. We can arrange a taskforce tomorrow.”

“Let’s pay them in coke.”

“I dunno dude, I bet they’d love my unattended package.”

* * *

The four of them were sat at their desk, waiting for last night’s photos to finish developing. Around five minutes ago someone had poked their head into the bullpen and announced that they were ‘nearly done’. In NYPD time that could mean anywhere between a minute and an hour, so they had taken to idly looking at the case files. 

“I bet that it’s coke. Nobody needs that much tren.”

“I dunno dude, I could get through that shit in an afternoon.” Madeline looked at him, eyebrow cocked.

“I take steroids for my throat!”

“That’s what they all say.”

“I swear to god Seargent, I don’t do steroids.”

Madeline eyed his muscles with obvious suspicion. 

Scully and/or Hitchcock fired back. “The only thing we’re addicted to is justice.” The pair began to high five, a complicated ordeal that required 15 consecutive movements. Raymond and Madeline had made a point of counting; consequently, their handshake now required 16. 

“You don’t have to be addicted to something for it to be an issue. Raymond, remind me how much you bet on Yabba Dabba Do? And how your ex reacted to it?”

“We had other issues.” Raymond scowled and looked away. “Besides, you are a smoker. Who are you to lecture me on addiction?”

Madeline ignored him. “If you keep this up, not even that movie deal you mentioned will save you.” She was hitting below the belt and they both knew it, but that was not stopping her. Fortunately for Raymond the other two cut in. “I’m sorry, a MOVIE deal?”

“Like an actual movie?” 

“I don’t know. All cinema produced after 1900 is only made with profit in mind, so I don’t bother myself with it.”

“Very rich coming from the man who said the Turner and Hooch movie sounded… what was it? Intriguing?”

“And nothing more. I am not going to see it, especially not alone.”

“I’ll join you.”

“That would mean a lot.”

Any further discussion was cut off by the developer depositing an envelope onto the desk, rather needlessly announcing that their photos were done. The four surged forward to take a look.

“WOW that’s a lot of cocaine!”

“Completely uncut too. Nice of them to label their packages so clearly.”

“Uncut package, reminds me of something else- “

Raymond cut across him. “I do not know if that is very smart or very stupid.”

“In my opinion, it’s smart to label the packages but stupid to leave them uncut. Why not just do it themselves?”

Scully had an answer to that one. “They know that the people who sell it are probably gonna check it. If they do it at the start and the seller gets wind they’ll be in deep shit.”

“But what will the seller do against a multi-billion dollar cartel?” Madeline asked.

Raymond chuckled. “They could form a union. Drug dealers for fair prices, the government have supported far worse things.”

“If only they had as much support for women and minorities. To be honest, I’m still shocked that they let you start that organisation for gay police officers.” 

“Well, they did not say I was not allowed, so I did it anyway.”

Scully cut in. “You’re gay?”

Raymond fumbled. “Uh…”

“That’s cool. We support the gays.”

“Unless they’re hitting on us, we don’t swing that way.”

“Does that… happen a lot?”

“Dude, we’re cute and wear crop tops.”

“We’d be more offended if they didn’t!” They both laughed, and Raymond took the opportunity to look over at Madeline, victorious. 

“But doesn’t it bother you? Having potential love interests think that you’re gay?” Madeline seemed genuinely concerned.

“We don’t care what other people think.”

Raymond smiled slightly. “As a wise woman once said to me, care about other people exactly as much as they care about you.”

“Anyway, shall we get back to the case? They’re probably doing a fuck tonne of coke as we speak.”

As the group returned to work Raymond couldn’t help but smile. It was strangely liberating to have such a positive reaction to him coming out, one which he had only experienced once before, co-incidentally with the woman shoving a case file under his nose. Maybe the world was a more accepting place than he thought. 

The rest of the afternoon went less well. After several fruitless hours, they had come no closer to deducing any new information. Although Raymond was initially resistant to the idea of raiding the gym, he was becoming more accepting of the idea, realising that they were otherwise unlikely to find the supplier. The four of them left work that day feeling somewhat accomplished but ultimately unsatisfied. 

Raymond thought of something that would cheer them up. It was a Friday night, after all. 

“How would you feel about going to Chicago’s?”

* * *

Raymond woke up, a ray of sunlight stinging his eyes. His mouth was completely dry, a storm thumping in his head. He looked up, taking stock of his surroundings. It was a typical bachelor pad, tinged with a faint smell of both sweat and colitas. There was dirty laundry on the lone chair in his eyeline, and a hairdryer draped over the end of the bed. None of this was likely to belong to him or Madeline, and it was not like he had any other friends to meet up with.

In conclusion, he had absolutely no idea where he was. 

He rolled over to further his efforts in deducing his location. The first thing he saw was Madeline, still asleep, reading glasses half attached to her face. They could not have… no, they had not. They were both fully clothed for a start, and Raymond was almost certain that he spoke for both of them when he said that they were not even remotely attracted to each other. He sat up and immediately felt dizzy, vision full of stars. He had absolutely no memory of the last… how many hours. He checked his watch. It was 11:23! He leapt out of bed and made to get changed before realising that nothing in the wardrobe belonged to him and anyway, he was still wearing the mustard suit he had gone to work in, albeit significantly more crumpled. He thrust open the curtains, turning the errant sunbeam into a full-on tsunami. This revealed the floor, which was home to numerous pill bottles and what looked like a throat spray. Then it clicked. He was at the other two’s apartment! Memories of last night flooded back to him. The four of them had hailed a taxi from Chicago’s, him pulling Madeline’s hair out of her face. She had thrown up as soon as they stepped out, presumably in front of this apartment. One cursory glance out of the window confirmed this theory, remembering the entrance of the building. They had got up the stairs… somehow.

The sun had finally gotten to Madeline. She started to stir, pulling an errant strand of hair out of her mouth, then grimacing. Presumably, last night had caught up to her. Gradually, she began to come round. She made a low moaning sound as she moved, pushing herself against the headboard and raising her arm to check her watch. As soon as she noticed the time, she jumped up as though she had been electrocuted and began to scrape back her hair, before realising it was still half-done from the night before. It took her looking into a mirror to notice Raymond stood behind her. 

“What are you doing here!” she said with a start.

She turned around slowly. “Did we sleep together?”

“Fortunately not. I am still gay, and do you honestly think I leave my apartment in such a mess?”

“I s’pose not.” she drawled. She undid her hair and picked up the hairbrush on the cabinet.

“Would it be rude to use this?”

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them.” 

“I know you’re lying, but I’m going to use it anyway.” She dragged the brush through her long blonde curls. “Do you think they have a straightener?”

“If Hitchcock’s hair is any indication, yes.”

“Is Hitchcock the one with straight hair? I can’t work it out and it’s too late to just ask.” She was already rummaging through the cabinet the mirror was perched on, making it wobble dangerously. She muttered under her breath as she searched.

“Trousers… underwear… sex toys?” She raised a particularly egregious pink- thing. “What does this even do?”

“Whatever it is, I would strongly advise you to not touch it.”

“Good point, I’ll keep- I found it!”

“What, your dignity?”

“No, that disappeared along with my sobriety. The straighteners!” She held them up triumphantly. “Why were they stored with- whatever the hell that thing was?”

“Are you sure that they are straighteners? Given that…” He trailed off for dramatic effect.

“If you don’t stop questioning me, I’m going to use them on you.” She plugged them in. When they didn’t do anything that a pair of straighteners shouldn’t, she left them on the cabinet to heat up.

“Do you think they’re actually at work?”

“It’s a Saturday, why would they be?”

“Don’t you remember last night?”

“Do you?” asked Raymond sceptically. 

“Well not really, but I do remember them betting us that they could solve the case without us.”

“And did they?”

“I don’t know, but for your sake I hope they didn’t because you bet them $1500.” 

“What the-”

Madeline pressed on. “They mentioned something about a Gio Costa? They said that he sold cocaine, or at least I’m assuming that he does because they said he was behind the shipment.”

“The mafia boss?”

“Yeah, they said they had someone on the inside.”

“So, what are they doing now?”

“I don’t know! The last thing I remember is… is me and you duetting That’s What Friends Are For.” She smiled ruefully and picked up the straighteners. “Everyone else joined in.”

“Thank goodness I don’t remember that.” 

Raymond suspected that she was not being entirely truthful. Not about singing – his sore throat was more than likely proof – but about that being the last thing she remembered. He was about to question her, but then he decided against it. If the rest of the night had gone how Madeline had described it, it was probably better that he didn’t know. 

Raymond decided to remedy his sore throat with a cold glass of water. He stepped out of the bedroom to be greeted with the dirtiest kitchen he had ever seen outside of a crime scene. Dirty dishes were stacked haphazardly on every single countertop. The bin was close to overflowing with takeaway containers, the oven being used to store tubs of protein. To top it all off, there was a dusting of suspicious white powder over the table where they presumably ate. For the sake of his sanity, he assumed it was protein powder. It vaguely resembled the kitchen in his halls of residence at university, save for a distinct lack of academic texts, or anything of educational value, unless you counted an errant copy of Playboy. 

Raymond picked his way over to the sink, grabbing two half-full glasses on the way. In the absence of any actual cleaning supplies, Raymond was forced to clean the glasses with hand soap, trying his best to fill them up without touching the mess of cutlery in the sink. When he came back with the water he noticed that Madeline was on the phone, wire stretching across the bed.

“…you did what? Well, Raymond’s not going to be happy!” She laughed and leant back into the pillows. 

“I got you some water. For your throat.”

The voice on the other end of the phone heard this. “Sore throat? They’res a spray on the floor somewhere, that’ll sort shit out.” He recognised it as Scully, or Hitchcock. 

“No offence, but I don’t really want to use something that’s been in your mouth! Anyway, well done on the case! What was the final count?”

“Twenty-four kilos of cocaine and three duffel bags of cash. That hasn’t been counted yet, but dude, it’s gonna be a fuckton.”

“So much that we’re willing to let Ray-Ray off the hook.”

“Yeah, we don’t even want his money!”

This seemed too good to be true. 

“Thank goodness. Is there a catch?”

“You have to clean our apartment.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Raymond noticed the mouldy Chinese cartons. “Absolutely not.”

“Do you want to pay a grand?”

“That’s how much the cleaners said it would be.”

“You know, on second thoughts…”

* * *

“Why did I agree to help you with this?” Madeline returned from the shop with a linen bag full of cleaning supplies and was now emptying the contents onto the floor.

“To be honest, I have no idea. You can leave at any time.” Raymond kneeled down and extracted some bin bags. 

“You’re right. I could.” She lit up a cigarette, inhaling deeply. 

“But are you… going to?”

Madeline exhaled, blowing smoke across the room. Ash fell onto the floor. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any dirtier. 

“Absolutely not.”

* * *

Raymond and Madeline had gathered up their stuff and were preparing to leave the 99. They just had one final task: assess the fallout.

“The only person I feel sorry for in this situation is Marissa.”

“Gio’s wife? Yeah, real bummer for her.”

Madeline scowled. “She was groomed from a young age by a drug kingpin and taught that her only purpose in life was to sit still and look pretty. I don’t think that ‘bummer’ quite cuts it.” 

“Yeah, good point. Women’s rights and all that.”

“We’re going to set her up with a job at Wingslutz, hopefully she’ll get back on her feet.”

“I’m sorry, Wingslutz? Is that really the best idea?”

“I mean it pays better than pretty much every other job that she could get, and she’s certainly hot enough for it.”

“Like you said, barely had an education. Dropped out when she was sixteen to support her family.”

This answer did not satisfy her. “So, after rescuing Marissa from a life of believing her looks are her only valuable asset, you’re going to put her into an environment which promotes those _exact same_ values?”

The two men cowered under Madeline’s rage.

“Yeah.”

“Pretty much.”

Madeline appeared outraged. “You are going to find whoever is in charge of the paperwork, get her into Witness Protection, and tell them that they are going to get her a job that doesn’t rely solely on looks.”

“How about customer service or something?”

“Yeah, or maybe a receptionist. That at least kinda uses brains.”

“We can stop by whenever and check that she’s ok.”

“Dude, she can give us a free pencil if it is!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scully says that he spent most of 1986 addicted to cocaine. Do with that information what you will. At least they never get addicted to Slut Sauce.


	8. Wint Community Centre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pair go undercover as a couple. The case? A family affair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why half of this chapter was in italics. I've done my best to fix this.

####  **1987**

* * *

Madeline stormed into the precinct and slammed her head onto their desk.

“Madeline? Is everything ok?” 

She slid him a cream envelope in response, not looking up. It had already been opened so ferociously that the top of the card inside had been torn off. He began to slide the card out of the envelope.

“May I?”

She gestured vaguely at him, still not looking up. With a flourish he removed it, carefully placing the envelope in front of Madeline. The thick card smelt like a new book and felt substantially grooved under Raymond’s thumb. He began to read the black and gold script curling across the paper.

“You are invited to the wedding of Dean and… Wuntch? You didn’t tell me you were engaged!” Even as he said it, he realised that this could not possibly be the case. For a start, she seemed upset about the invite, if her position on the desk was any indication. More importantly, she had never mentioned being in any kind of relationship before, especially not a fiancé! 

Finally, she looked up, her face surprisingly devoid of tears. If anything, she looked more concerned than upset. She answered the question that hung in the air.

“It’s my younger sister.”

“Congratulations to her.” Why was she so annoyed? He considered pressing the matter, but decided against it. 

“Have you read the watch store robbery? I think we should start- “

“Do you think I’m doing the right thing with my life?”

Raymond was taken aback. “Of course, why wouldn’t you be?”

“I’ve just been thinking about what my family say to me, and my sister’s wedding isn’t going to help.”

Raymond thought he had an idea what they said, but wanted to be sure. “You mean how they say you are married to your job?”

“It’s along those lines.”

“And do you agree? Because at the end of the day- “

“It’s only my opinion that matters, don’t respect people who don’t respect you, blah blah. It’s just that I’m 33, I’m always at work, I barely have any friends, let alone a serious boyfriend- as my parents are going to remind me at the wedding, constantly.” 

“And is there anything you could do about that?”

“I could murder my family.”

“You are in the police force!”

“You’re right, I would be the prime suspect.” said Madeline, deliberately misunderstanding him. “Not that it would worry me; if the detectives on my case were anything like you, I would never get caught.”

Ignoring the jab at his detective abilities, Raymond cut in. “Have you considered any less violent options?”

“I could ask someone to be my date. Just to the wedding, of course.”

“Speaking of dates, who are you going to set me up with for our bet? It has been four years!”

Madeline ignored him, still deep in thought. “Well, I could ask someone from my book club, but they’d think it was a proposition…” She trailed off.

Since when was she part of a book club? It wasn’t important. She was still deep in thought, flipping the invite around her fingers. 

“You could… go out somewhere, meet someone, get to know each other, discover common interests- then, you would have an actual date to bring to all future events. And to spend the rest of your life with, I suppose.” he added as an afterthought. 

Madeline scowled at him. “Be realistic, Raymond.”

“I suppose it would be hard for a man to fall in love with a Korean toilet ghost.” 

She looked down at her paperwork, face emotionless.

“No comeback? You must be stressed.”

“If you don’t shut your mouth and let me think I’m going to strangle you to death with the red toilet paper.”

“You didn’t use the correct colour toilet paper! I won that one.”

“The only thing you won is an inflated sense of your own intelligence based on obscure trivia knowledge. Shush.”

Raymond really didn’t have a comeback for that one. 

Several minutes later, Madeline had still not spoken, a vow of silence that must have set some kind of personal record. It was only one of her uniformed officers tapping her on the shoulder that woke her up from her introspection, a case file in hand. After she hurried off, Raymond picked the invite off her desk to inspect it further. Despite never having been invited to a wedding, he could tell that the invitation could not have been more generic, the names of the betrothed emblazoned across the centre in curling script. The wedding was in two months- maybe that was too soon for Madeline to find the love of her life. At least the venue was close to home. He vaguely remembered something about her family never having left the city. This would fit in nicely with their seemingly limited worldview. Other than that, there was nothing more to be gained, nothing on the invite even went close to showing even a hint of personality. It was easy to see why the ambitious and opinionated person he knew Madeline to be was so out of place in this family. Many a family story recounted by her came to mind, particularly the ones where her parents told her to quit work and find a husband. The fact that it was stories, plural, told him everything he needed to know. 

Madeline returned, her already bad mood obviously worsened. She was muttering to herself under her breath. 

_“…I mean how hard is it to arrest someone, it’s Literally Your Fucking Job…”_

“I take it the new officer needed some assistance?” he said, referring to the man who had recently tripped over his own shoelaces on his first day. 

“Nope! This bastard’s been a beat cop longer than I’ve been in the force, and let me tell you, there is a _fucking reason_ for that- “ 

“He is incapable, I gathered. I know I was only a beat cop for a month, but I like to think I could do a better job.” 

“Isn’t that against the rules? I should have noticed, I was there. Doesn’t matter, I’m not going to tell anyone.” She was distractedly searching for a pen, oblivious to their shared pen pot. She hadn’t even noticed that said pen pot was several inches away from its usual position. Clearly, she was in no state to do any kind of police work. 

“Madeline. Take the day off.” 

“Why would I? They’res nothing wrong with me.” she said, attempting to take a pen out of the pen pot with uncharacteristic sloppiness. This caused Raymond to raise an eyebrow sceptically. 

“Maybe not physically, but you need some time to process this family development, and to be quite frank, a day off in general. Maybe your parents are right about you being married to your job-” he stopped as soon as he saw her face, a combination of reproachful and upset. He changed track quickly. “It is a slow day for cases. I can deal with the uniformed officers, and if the captain asks where you are, I will say that you are sick.” 

Madeline forced a half-hearted grin. “Thank you.” She packed up and threw on her suit jacket. 

“Oh, and Madeline?” 

She turned back around. 

“Just know that you can always count on me.” 

She turned back and strolled to the door, but not before he noticed her, now-genuine, smile. 

* * *

The next day, Madeline walked in looking significantly happier. 

“Did you have a good day off?” 

“I went to Chicago’s. It turns out that men are still terrible.” 

“Is that a good thing?” 

“No, but I had an idea. You did mean it when you said I could always count on you, right?” 

“Of course, I only lie when someone is in danger.” Raymond had no idea where this conversation was going. 

“Sure thing, pony boy.” As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she regretted them. “Sorry, I’m meant to be asking you a favour! Would you mind being my date to the wedding?” 

Was he hearing this right? She did know that- 

“I know that you’re gay, and I don’t want to _bone_ you, but I really need a date or my parents will probably disown me or, something.” She said all of this very fast, words slurring into each other. 

“Madeline, are you quite alright?” 

“Well I went to the doctor a couple of weeks ago and he said that I have some kind of heart condition and I had to get surgery last night. I’m still coming off the anaesthetic, but I’m back today, and that’s what matters!” 

No wonder she had been so distracted the past few days! He was astounded, both at how she had failed to mention any of this, and her frightening dedication to her job. “You had an operation yesterday? Why didn’t you lead with that!” 

“Because you’d tell me to go home, and I can’t afford to miss two days of work in a row!” 

“Madeline, Go. Home. I will tell the captain that you are ill, _because it is true_.” 

She pretended not to hear him, making her desk up for a day of work. She was clearly determined to drag herself through, even if it killed her, apparently. He only had one card he could play. 

“If you don’t go home right now, I won’t go to the wedding with you.” 

She looked up absently. Fortunately, the anaesthetic had fried her brain just enough that she ignored the double contraction and called his bluff, returning her binder to her briefcase. 

“I will put in your sick leave form as you leave. And since you are clearly in no condition to do anything by yourself, I will walk you home.” 

* * *

Two months later, the pair were sat in a taxi, dressed to the nines. Madeline had treated herself to a blowout, and was wearing a suit not unlike his own. 

“Let’s recap the family one last time. My parents-” 

“There is your father, who is an accountant, and your mother, who has no personality aside from being a Christian.” 

“Don’t repeat that, obviously. Siblings?” 

“Your younger brother who likes to let everyone know that he used to be in the army even though he dropped out of basic in the second week, and your sister and today’s bride, who if I recall correctly is the reason you do not want children- “ 

“But don’t mention that to the parents.” They said in unison. Then they looked at each other and laughed. 

“I think you’ve got this. But just to check- “ 

“Mention your healthy work-life balance, your friends from your book club, and that we met at church, where we both go every Sunday.” 

Madeline clapped her hands together. “Perfect! My parents are going to love you.” 

“I learnt from the best.” 

The taxi pulled to a halt in front of Wint community centre. There was a sandwich board propped in front of the entrance, multicoloured chalk script curling across it indicating that there had not been some kind of horrible misunderstanding and this was indeed the venue of the wedding. Not that there could be any mistake; they had obsessively checked the invitation every day since its arrival. At one point, for no reason in particular, they had used a UV light on it in the hopes that it might reveal something actually interesting: the only thing they learnt was that they needed to clean their desks more often. Said invitation was promptly handed to the guard on the door, who swung it open obligingly. 

“Cloakroom” the guard grunted, vaguely gesturing to the door on the left. Madeline grasped his hand and pulled him into the cloakroom. When they entered, she did not let go. 

“We look more like a couple” she whispered, answering his unsaid question. 

They handed their coats to a man at and placed their gift on a nearby table: a box containing a stand mixer, the only thing on the registry that had not been directly related to children. Who knew there were so many varieties of pram? They made to leave, but not before they were accosted by a short woman with a blonde beehive. 

“Madeline! It’s been so long!” She threw Madeline into what looked like a bone-crushing hug. 

Who is she? Raymond mouthed. 

No idea, Madeline mouthed back. 

Once the woman had released Madeline from her clutches, she turned around and noticed Raymond backed against a wall. 

“Come on, can you take this?” The woman thrust her handbag into his arms. He stood there, bewildered, but before he could say a word she began to talk again. “Well what are you waiting for? Chop chop!” 

Clearly just as confused as him, Madeline stepped in. “Mrs…” 

“Smith, dear. And call me Ellen, they’res no need for formalities!” She ended this sentence with hysterical laughter. Unsure of what to do, they forced themselves to do the same. Ellen took the opportunity to lean forwards and pinch Madeline’s cheeks. “It’s been so long since I’ve last seen you, you never have time for family anymore. Always working, I swear!” She continued her own laughter. Between her false guffaws, Madeline shot him a look. He knew what he needed to do. Leaving the woman’s handbag on the flat surface next to them, he slid next to Madeline and linked their arms. 

“Ellen, it’s a pleasure to meet you! I’m Madeline’s date for this event.” 

For the first time since they had met her, Ellen’s smile faltered. 

“That’s… very nice. I’m Madeline and Diana’s aunt; their greatest terror!” Her laughter returned for a third time; however, it was notably more forced. “Anyway, I don’t want to take up any more of your time, I’ll see you at the reception, goodbye!” She kissed Madeline on the cheek, gave Raymond a cursory glance, and finally swept out of the room, leaving nothing but a gust of wind and a strong smell of rosemary behind. Once Raymond was sure that she was out of earshot, he began to speak. 

“I do not get the impression that she liked me very much.” 

Madeline rolled her eyes. “She probably hates everyone who doesn’t burst into song and skip. Shall we go to the ceremony?” 

Hand in hand, the pair left the cloakroom and began to walk down the long corridor that led to the ceremony hall. 

“I’ve never met your sister, but from the way you describe her, I imagine that she is somewhat like the woman who is apparently my aunt?” 

“Yes, very much so. Aside from the racism, of course.” 

The second sentence had obviously taken Madeline by surprise. “What makes you think that?” 

“She threw her bag at me and immediately disliked me, even before I said a single word. There are other possible explanations, but my inner detective says you should follow the most obvious lead, and unfortunately, that is the most logical conclusion.” 

She looked up at him, concerned. 

“Normally I would make a joke about how you’ve never made a correct solve in your life, but for this…” 

“One can only hope that you are right.” 

“Well, we’re about to find out.” 

Madeline pushed open the doors at the end of the corridor, revealing the ceremony hall. The room was almost full, buzzing with conversation. 

The first thing he noticed was the décor. A red carpet formed an aisle up to a floral arch, a lectern stood just behind it. There were delicate wooden chairs surrounding this makeshift aisle and facing the front, each one with flowers woven through the slats in the back. Tables were folded and precariously perched up against the side walls, presumably for the reception. Even the basketball hoops on the sides of the room had been bedazzled. 

The second thing he noticed was that every single person in the room was staring at him. 

Upon realising that the entire room had gone quiet, the pair stared at each other. Then, they came to a silent agreement and made their way to their seats, ignoring the eyes that trailed them as they walked. Fortunately, this tactic of evasion appeared to have worked, because by the time they reached their seats at the front, the majority of people had resumed their conversation. 

For what felt like the hundredth time today, the pair exchanged a look. 

“I- “ 

“You were right. No need to gloat.” 

“There are no winners here, Madeline.” 

* * *

The ceremony crawled by, entirely without event. They sang hymns badly , clapped as the bride and groom exchanged rings, and Raymond managed to make his way through the Lord’s Prayer without making it obvious that he barely knew the words. At long last, the final reading came to a close and the chairs of the ceremony were placed around hastily unfolded tables for the reception, forming a circle. 

“May the bride and the groom please take to the dancefloor!” 

There was a loud cheer from everyone in the room as the wedded couple stood in the circle. As the first notes of _Can’t Help Falling in Love_ swelled through the hall, the bride and groom began to step. Despite the size of her dress and obvious lack of practice, the bride was doing an admirable job of not tripping over. This went on for the duration of the song, the groom spinning the bride out being met with a series of oohs and aahs. Next was the father-daughter dance, then came the groom and Madeline’s mother, who held the groom an arm’s width apart from her throughout the entire dance. Then, one by one, the bridesmaids paired off with the groomsmen to perform some kind of foxtrot at varying levels of competency. The whole dance was ramshackle affair that was equal parts awkward and sweet. Now that the attention of the group was fully directed to the dancefloor, Raymond finally felt it was safe to talk to Madeline without fear of being overheard. 

“How come you are not a bridesmaid? I know you and your sister are not close, but your family seem very traditional.” 

“Exactly. When I was eighteen, I let them down by joining the academy and not marrying my high school sweetheart.” 

Seemingly inspired by _The Time of My Life_ playing in the background, the groom made a valiant attempt at picking up the bride, getting her feet a few inches off the ground before thinking better of it. 

“She wasn’t even allowed to watch Dirty Dancing because it has pre-marital sex in it.” 

“Women not having jobs, parents controlling what their adult children watch- it is 1987! Is your whole family living in the past?” 

“You tell me. Given how they reacted when you came in, I don’t think anyone told them segregation ended.” 

In spite of himself, Raymond laughed. Trust Madeline to bring some levity to a bleak situation. 

The dances came to a close, or at least the music was shut off and Raymond took that to mean that the dance was over. He went to sit down, but Madeline closed a hand around his wrist. 

“You think it was over so soon. We all have to dance now.” And just as she had said, almost everyone was now stood in the (now significantly more cramped) circle. Although Raymond did not recognise the song that had just started, the entirety of the circle seemed to take it as a cue to start dancing. Madeline placed one hand on his shoulder and held her other hand out at a right angle, clearly beckoning him to take it. 

“Now grab onto my waist- a bit higher, now down a bit - that’s it. Now step to the left…” 

Madeline continued in this vein for the duration of the song, and by the end he was rather fond of this strange new movement. It stood as a testament to both the effectiveness of practice and him and Madeline’s silent communication skills. After half an hour of songs that bled into one another, he was confident enough to spin her into a dip, catching her leg as she leant backwards. As he caught her, they made eye contact, and they couldn’t help but laugh as he pulled her back up. Eight years of drift-compatible eyebrow conversations had obviously paid off. 

As the final notes of a hymn of some sort crackled away, the couples began to move to the side, leaving just the bride and groom, staring into each other’s eyes. The sound of applause filled the room. Raymond was so caught up in the atmosphere of it all that he had forgotten what was coming next: the reception. _Book club. Church. Work. You can do this. Lie to someone’s face._

“This is lovely, isn’t it sweetie!” 

A woman who looked remarkably like Madeline swayed up to them, smiling widely. Her eyes roved over Raymond, glassy smile faltering for a fraction of a second. Madeline watched her, scrambling to find a new topic before the woman could comment. 

“Mother, what are the seating arrangements?” 

“You’re with the family, of course!” she said with a little too much enthusiasm, gesturing over to the table at the head of the room. Her face must hurt from smiling. 

Once at the table they were greeted by various family members who granted him a cursory nod. It was better than outright disapproval, he supposed. Their attention was quickly distracted by the flutes of champagne being handed out. He took one, and upon sipping it realised that it was sparkling water. He looked over at Madeline inquisitively; she made to address the group. 

“She’s grown up so fast, hasn’t she? It feels like yesterday that I was holding her in my arms and here she is, eighteen and getting married!” 

The whole family cheered at this declaration, her mother wiping a tear. “It really is lovely. And to think, one day this could be you!” 

“I don’t- “ 

Raymond cut her off. “Yes, it could be!” He faked a slight chuckle, eliciting smiles from the rest of the family. 

“So… how did you two meet?” 

“Church,” they both answered a little too quickly. The family looked intrigued. 

“Madeline, didn’t you once say that spreading the word of the lord was ‘forcing an agenda down people’s throats?’ That they should simply be left to burn in hell?” 

For once, it was Madeline who didn’t know what to say. The family were surrounding her not unlike sharks, teeth bared. However, she regained her composure quickly enough. 

“It was actually Raymond who helped me see the light. Go on sweetheart, tell them how you saved me.” 

She turned to him, barely concealing her smirk. Slam-dunk returned. The only thing Raymond had time to think of was the truth, or at least part of it. 

“Well, we met at work and we just… clicked. So, one day we decided that we should see each other outside of work.” All of this was perfectly true, thus maintaining his moral integrity. For now. 

“Madeline, always working. Are you going to get married in a prison?” The family sniggered, prompting Madeline to redouble her smile. 

“We met at work but we really fell in love at church. Since Raymond is such a godly man, he felt it was important that I get to see his world. I was a little sceptical at first, given my… _past experiences,_ but I found my way in the end.” She raised her head, satisfied. 

Even though this wasn’t a competition, Raymond was determined to win. “Yes, we’re very partial to reading the bible to people in the holding cells. It helps bring them to eternal salvation and isn’t preachy at all.” 

“Yes, we particularly like the bit about loving thy neighbour, even if they’re different from you.” 

Blissfully unaware of the discourse going on in front of them, Madeline’s family were smiling disarmingly. Eventually, the groom spoke up. 

“Well I’m glad that the black sheep finally found the light! Although it appears, we have a new black sheep…” He looked over at Raymond pointedly. 

The family were half amused and half scandalised, placing hands over their mouths as they laughed. Fortunately, the food was aplenty and the alcohol non-existent, meaning that the small talk throughout the rest of the wedding was mostly discussing the newlyweds, and far away from Madeline’s inexplicable new religious stance. 

It could not have gone much better. 

* * *

“I think we did rather well, don’t you?” 

“Yes, my family probably aren’t going to disown me.” Madeline would normally have laughed, if she had not declared (the moment they were out of earshot, and at a sufficient volume for the entire neighbourhood to hear) that her face was never going to let her smile again. 

“I must say, I feel as though there is a story behind your comments regarding the bible.” 

“And you will never hear it.” 

“That’s good, because I’m only pretending to be interested.” Raymond picked up a pawn, hovering it dangerously close to her queen. He looked up. Madeline sighed. 

“Ok, I’ll tell you. I was a teenager and I had to knock on stranger’s doors…” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A twist on a classic fake dating AU! In this story I tried to avoid clichés but seeing as this (basically) canonically happened, I feel justified in writing it. 
> 
> If you’re wondering where the heart thing came from, it’s a possible explanation for the events of Ding Dong #IYKYK . 
> 
> The Korean toilet ghost from the start of the chapter is a real urban legend! It goes as follows:
>
>> The ghost most commonly dwells in squat toilets and appears by sticking its hand out of the bowl, it then asks you if you would prefer red toilet paper or blue toilet paper. You will have to answer the question and the door will be locked if you try to escape. If you chose the red toilet paper, the ghost will skin you alive and leave your body red with blood. If you chose the blue toilet paper, the ghost will choke you to death, leaving your body blue from suffocation. 
> 
> I've never been to a wedding! I filled in the gaps with cursory google searches so I apologise if it’s not 100% accurate! 


	9. Bouche Mange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A figure from Madeline’s past re-emerges, changing the course of their life forever.

“You have reached the 73rd Precinct of the NYPD, this is Seargent Madeline Wuntch, how can I help you?”

“Hello Seargent Wuntch, my name is Professor Kevin Cozner and I’m writing a piece on historic law enforcement.”

There was a flicker of recognition on Madeline’s face. 

“I was hoping to get an insider’s opinion so that I could- “

“Relate the article to a wider, non-scholastic readership?”

“-Yes, exactly like that.” The man on the phone paused. Raymond leant over, straining to hear the voice on the phone. Madeline scowled at him and pressed it closer to her ear. It wasn’t enough to stop him. 

“I’m sorry if this sounds intrusive, but I feel like I know you.”

“I’m glad you said that, because so do I. I can’t think from where though, I find it unlikely that our paths would have crossed. New York is a big city!” She laughed awkwardly.

“I do not actually live in the city: I teach classics at a small college upstate.”

The mention of classics dredged a memory from the depths of Raymond’s brain. A deep, dark, memory of a date Madeline had been on a few years before. It would have been unremarkable had it not been the last date he could recall her going on. Madeline was obviously a few seconds ahead of him in this respect, as he could already see her trying to work out how to phrase this information so as not to make it awkward. 

“I seem to recall… something about a Spanish restaurant. Lapis Lazuli or something?” Another awkward laugh. All three of them knew that was not the name of the restaurant. 

Suddenly, Madeline’s expression shifted. It was an expression he knew well: the one she gave when she was having an epiphany. He mouthed at her to stop, making him vaguely resemble a pufferfish.

“Well, you were talking about classics… how would you like to speak to my colleagues, Detective Holt? He has an exemplary knowledge of classics, as well as being one of the finest detectives in the NYPD. I’ll hand you over!” She thrust the phone into his hand and before he had time to point out that she had an extensive classics background far beyond his own she had picked up her paperwork and was now kneeling on a side table, writing on top of a printer and pretending not to notice the stares of her squad. 

Well, time to get this over with.

“Hello… Professor Costner? Was that right?”

“No, but a lot of my students like to think so. Apparently, that is the name of an up-and-coming movie star.”

A smile twitched at the edge of Raymond’s lips. “College students are nothing if not predictable.”

Raymond could almost hear the man at the other end smile. “Anyway, I heard my colleague talking about historic law enforcement. That was actually a subject of interest to me growing up, and I believe that it relates to my experiences…”

Unbeknownst to Raymond, Madeline was looking over at him, smiling. 

She had a feeling these two were going to get on very well.

* * *

“Anyway, it’s been lovely talking to you! Who knew that modern law enforcement was so entrenched in traditionalism?”

Raymond, of all people, certainly did. Years of discrimination had proven that. He teetered on the edge of laughing and mindlessly agreeing, before changing his mind. 

“…I actually have some more _personal_ information regarding that topic. But I have to get back to work now, I could pass you over to Seargent Wuntch who I am sure will be able to help you- “

Madeline, who had been feigning indifference up to this point, snatched the phone from out of his hands. 

“Raymond is free from five o’clock tonight; he will meet you in person.”

What was she doing? Any necessary information could be delivered over the phone, there was no need for them to meet in person! He began preparing a redaction of Madeline’s foolish proposition, but then Professor Cozner gave a nervous laugh, and all of a sudden, he could not help but feel endeared. Madeline handed back the phone, a Cheshire cat smile plastered on her face.

“That would be lovely, actually. I live quite a way away, but I am sure I could make a stop into the city say… around seven? I know a lovely French patisserie that would be ideal to conduct this conversation in.”

“Bouche Mange? I have always wanted to go there. Well, I do not want to waste any more of your time, so I will see you then.” Raymond slammed down the phone, nerves inexplicably taking over his senses. He had been on the force for eight years, taken down some of the worst criminals New York had ever known, and the thought of a simple _interview_ was enough to make him abandon his decorum? His staidness was one of his finer qualities, yet he could feel it slip away from him just at the thought of a visit to a French patisserie. 

At least Madeline had the good grace to appear guilty- even if her facade was undercut by her next sentence. 

“So, how did the interview go? I have a sneaking suspicion that both of you stayed on the phone far longer than was necessary.”

He could hardly deny something as fixed as time, so he adopted a more defensive stance. “Madeline, finally doing some good detective work! I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Remind me who won our bet?”

They had found themselves in the verbal cat-and-mouse game they so often liked to play. One would press questions, the other would refrain from giving answers until they were backed into a metaphorical corner. And right now, Madeline was giving chase. 

Raymond ignored her. “I seem to recall that you met Professor Cozner at a history seminar.” A diversion, hopefully buying him enough time to dodge her future questions.

“That is true, but it doesn’t answer my question. How did the interview go?” She had not taken the bait.

“It was very enjoyable. We found ourselves going on the most fascinating tangent about- “

“Raymond, we both know that is not what I was asking about.”

“Speak for yourself.” 

“Raymond, getting information from hardened criminals for a living could be considered difficult. Getting my best friend to give me a perfectly innocent interview recap is a little less difficult. After all, this was a facts-based interview for a respected publication, you should have nothing to hide unless _something else_ is afoot…”

She had trapped him in a corner, well and truly. And they both knew it. Despite not having done anything wrong, Raymond knew he was about to confess, lest get eaten alive.

“We are continuing the interview at seven o’clock, where I will give him some personal anecdotes about racism and sexism in the NYPD, and if I feel I can trust him, we will also delve into homophobia. Once the interview has reached its mutually satisfying conclusion, we will go our separate ways, not crossing paths again because we live two hours apart.”

“On our date he said it was a half-hour drive. It was why I was so upset that he didn’t call back.”

“You were upset?” Raymond stopped his defence for a second to marvel. “I didn’t know you were capable of emotion.”

“Positively devastated. He seemed so nice and gentlemanly, something hard to find when most men are like our friends over at the 99. If I cannot have him…you should be able to.”

Raymond did not know what to do with this emotional outburst. He decided to act as if it had not happened. “Yes, but I don’t own a car, and anyway, we’ll have nothing more to say to each other. The last interaction we’ll have is buying the New Yorker magazine that has my interview in, more as a curio than anything else, and then I’ll never think about him again.”

“I counted four contractions in two sentences. Do I look like I was born yesterday? You’re hoping you will stay in touch.”

He thought he had been backed into a corner before: now, he was practically sinking into the wall. 

“Well, I did rather enjoy our interview, and I suppose I would value his friendship.”

“Tell yourself that.”

* * *

The scent of butter engulphed Raymond as soon as he stepped into the café. It was a small place, but both warmth and homeliness oozed from every vestibule: a far cry from the sports bar Raymond so often frequented. He sat himself down on one of the weathered metal chairs crammed into a back corner, so as to look as unassuming as possible. This was made difficult by the rather… caucasian nature of the clientele. He felt even further out of place when he realised that the majority of the patrons were what looked to be heterosexual couples enjoying a Friday evening out. He was no stranger to feeling ostracised because of who he was- the NYPD might as well have considered it a competitive sport- but for some reason he felt more nervous than he had any reason to be. He was meeting a potential friend to help them with their research- there was nothing illegal or even morally wrong with that! 

He was awakened from his train of thought by the tinkle of the bell above the door. He looked over as the man who he assumed to be Professor Cozner walked in. He was dressed in a way that screamed of academia, right down to the neatly gelled ginger hair and battered suitcase clutched in his ink-stained fingers. His brown eyes scanned the room before settling on him, the sole unaccompanied person in a café designed to be romantic. 

It then occurred to him that he had failed to mention that he was black. It would be lovely to assume that this had no impact on the interview, but he knew that it could matter very much, especially when said interview was being written for a publication primarily enjoyed by rich white men. However, he hoped that Cozner being young – a couple of years younger than himself, if he had to guess- would give him a more progressive stance than his contemporaries. Fortunately, the man in question was seemingly unbothered by this revelation of sorts as he slid into the chair opposite him, the uneven legs adjusting to the weight. He held out a hand.

“Professor Cozner at your service.”

He had a pleasantly firm handshake, if a little cold from the metal of his briefcase. For some strange reason, and against all the protocol of a usual handshake, Raymond wanted to hold on. He did not (obviously), and looked up to see the professor pulling out a leather-bound notebook and a very classy fountain pen. A Montblanc Meisterstück, unless he was much mistaken, which was not unlikely considering how expensive he knew that brand of pen to be, indicating that the man in front of him likely came from wealth and/or was something of a connoisseur of writing implements. A man after his own heart-

Dear god, he was thinking like a detective. 

Or worse, an admirer. 

“Hello? Earth to Detective Holt?” The professor lightly placed their hand on top of his own, sending nerves through his entire body. 

“Sorry, I was lost in thought.” _Enraptured_ , more like.

“Should we start the interview?”

“Yes, lets.” Unnecessary abbreviations? What had gotten into him?

“So, you mentioned having more personal stories regarding the NYPD’s traditionalist tendencies.”

“Yes, I did. As a black man, I have often felt discriminated against by my colleagues. On my first day as a detective, somebody asked if I was here to turn myself in.”

“My god, that is terrible! Did you file a report to your boss?”

“No, there would have been no point. The captain thought it was hilarious. To be honest, I rarely have a superior officer on my side.”

“Does that not go against everything the police force stands for? Liberty and justice, for all?”

“You would think so. Sad as it is, prejudice often prevails over making the right choices.”

Cozner was writing furiously, notebook partially obscuring his face. He looked up and raised an eyebrow, as if telling him to continue.

“I am not the only one who frequently gets undermined. My colleague Seargent Wuntch is one of the best detectives in the NYPD, but she often gets given lowly cases because people do not think that she is capable enough.”

“So, perfectly capable people get ignored because of who they are? Interesting.”

“I would try to give some historical parallels, but then we would be here all night.”

This elicited a laugh from both men. Normally Raymond did not like smiles that lasted for over a couple of seconds, but he could watch the professor laugh for ten, maybe twenty seconds. Or more. 

“History repeats itself, does it not?”

“Normally I would agree with you, but I am currently enjoying an exception. The last time Seargent Wuntch -or Madeline, as I call her-, gave me the phone to talk to a stranger, I had to open a case investigating the existence of lizard people living in our sewers. In the end, there was only one human-sized reptile in New York, and that is because Madeline is a snake.”

Cozner could barely contain his laughter. “You are honestly hilarious.”

“Thank you, professor, - “

“You’re not one of my students. Call me Kevin.”

“Since we are on first name terms now, I would like you to call me Raymond.”

“Does this mean we’ll meet again in the future?”

“If our future meetings are anything like this, I certainly hope so.”

The pair smiled awkwardly at each other for several lingering seconds before a waitress came over, breaking the silence. After he wandered off to make their black coffees Raymond spoke.

“I cannot bring myself to order a sweet pastry. After all, if you are hungry-”

“You should have ordered more mains, is what I normally think- I’m sorry. Continue.” Kevin stared fixedly at his notepad, obviously embarrassed. 

“No, that is exactly what I think as well.”

“On the other hand, the desserts are the main selling point of this café. I for one would quite like a croissant to accompany my croque-monsieur.” 

“Is a croissant a dessert?”

“Anything can be a dessert if you cover it in enough chocolate and sugar.”

“That is a whole other debate. Do you think a croissant constitutes a dessert?”

By the time their food had arrived – a croque-monsieur for Kevin and eggs dauphine for Raymond – the pair had agreed that a croissant was not inherently a dessert, and was therefore perfectly acceptable to order. 

“This reminds me of the kind of discussion that I would have with Madeline from work. She firmly believes that desserts are the best part of a meal, and she would be wrong!” Raymond smiled at the memory of Madeline fiercely maintaining that ice cream sundaes were acceptable for people of all ages- that is, before noticing Kevin’s concerned face.

“Is there something wrong? Are you secretly a dessert lover?”

Kevin looked very awkward. “They are ok under certain circumstances.”

“I suppose there is some merit to having them _occasionally_ \- “

Kevin still looked concerned. 

“I can be tempted if a person I particularly like offers me one-”

“What if your friend Madeline offered you one?”

Raymond paused before answering. “I do not know how that would occur; it is not like we go out to eat together.”

“How come?”

“We normally go to bars, or her apartment.”

This did nothing to make Kevin feel better. If anything, it made him tense up even more, the wrinkles in his face deepening.

Suddenly, it clicked.

“You do not think that Madeline and I are… lovers, do you?”

The man in front of him muttered something under his breath, staring at his hands.

“We are close, but I would never want to date her.” 

He visibly relaxed. “You just seem to spend a lot of time with her, that’s all.”

“We work together, it is natural that we spend time together.”

“I know, but I work with people too, and I like them but,” Kevin looked glum. “I just don’t think I can consider them friends. And I know I have only known you for a couple of hours and I might be horribly misjudging you and your relationship but… I feel strange saying it- “

“Go on; no matter what you say, people have said far worse.”

“She almost seems like your older sister.” Kevin immediately took a large mouthful of the croque- monsieur that had just been set in front of him. He winced as the hot centre burnt his tongue. 

“That is… an interesting conclusion. It is not necessarily wrong!” Raymond added upon seeing how mortified Kevin obviously was. “But what makes you think that?”

Kevin finished his mouthful with difficulty. “Well, you two seem to fight a lot; you are obviously very competitive with each other.”

Raymond laughed. “Very accurate.”

“But at the end of the day, you two are always there for each other. She looks out for you, you look out for her; you care for each other unconditionally.” Suddenly, Kevin’s face fell. “I only wish I had such a relationship with somebody.” He immediately backpedalled. “I’m sorry- I am sharing far too much information on a first date- this isn’t a date, what am I even saying…“ Kevin appeared close to tears. 

Raymond stepped in. “I am sure that there is someone out there for you _somewhere_ …”

“I know, it is just hard to find them.” He was clearly choking, either on tears or his sandwich. Raymond offered him one of the tissues in his pocket. He had taken to carrying them around ever since Madeline had denied him use of her (perfectly well stocked!) tissue box.

“I am so sorry for getting so emotional, you barely even know me and I am already piling you with baggage. Let’s start from square one.” Kevin took a deep breath and composed himself somewhat, dabbing his eyes before starting. 

“Hello, my name is Kevin Cozner, I work at a small college, I have one sibling. Is that how things are done?”

Normally, Raymond was staunchly against discussion of family but for some reason that was beyond him, he wanted Kevin to go on. He would even be ok with knowing his siblings’ _gender_.

“Do you have a brother or a sister?”

* * *

“… And I _will_ murder you if you ever tell anyone else this, but I used to build pillow forts with my sister and sing her songs!”

Kevin began to laugh. “You never struck me as the sensitive type! You seem so stoic!”

After the café had closed – which was long after they had finished eating – the pair had wandered the streets of Brooklyn, talking animatedly the whole way, and before long they found themselves at a mid-tier wine bar. They were enjoying it a little too much: so much so that they had both foregone being tipsy in favour of being completely intoxicated. This, combined with a quickly growing affinity for the other’s presence, had made them start sharing _personal stories_. Far too personal. 

“To be honest, a large part of my deadpan nature comes from a deep-seated insecurity about others trying to exploit my weaknesses, as well as an attempt to offset the flamboyance typically associated with…“ Raymond caught himself at the very last second.” …people like me. I am sorry, I am telling you far too much.”

“We have known each other for all of,” Kevin checked his watch “seven hours, and you already know more about me than everyone else in my life, _put together_. I think we are past the point of pretending that we are cool and interesting.”

“I have absolutely no idea why I am saying this to a stranger, but you are right.”

“I just told you about the time my brother caught me reading The Picture of Dorian Gray, and I thought I was going to take that to the grave. I would class us as at least friendly acquaintances.”

“And you know about the time Madeline and I stole a historical document from a museum to prove a point. I trust you enough to not report that to the authorities: I think that makes us friends!”

“You did give the document back, in fairness. Otherwise I would absolutely be calling the police- if I didn’t know what the police were up to in their spare time!”

Raymond laughed uproariously. “If you cannot beat them, you would be advised… to join them.”

Now it was Kevin’s turn to laugh. It was such a stupid joke, yet it was enough to put them both in stitches. They both ordered another glass of Sauvignon Blanc, which they began sipping ill-advisedly.

“It should be illegal to be that funny. You need to be locked up,”

“Why punish me for a crime I did not commit?”

“Liar.” Kevin gave a sweet, awkward smile. Raymond had already seen the smile a hundred times this evening, and he would be happy with seeing it a hundred more. “That’s not even funny, why am I laughing!” 

“Shut up, I am hilarious.” Before he could protest, Raymond cupped Kevin’s face, causing the man in question to blush a little. He pressed his thumb and index finger into the other man’s dimples, turning his pink hue positively puce. They both began laughing yet again and it was only a reproachful look from the bartender that got them to stop. 

“Guys, we’re closed now, please go home or, whatever you people do.”

For reasons beyond any understanding, Raymond decided to do an impression of Hitchcock and/or Scully. “That is a sure thing, my dude.” 

“Popular language! We are cool, right?”

“I think you are very cool. Almost radical.” He placed a thumb over Kevin’s lips. This made him positively beam.

The bartender shouted again. “Both of you, we’re closed! Go to the offie or something!”

They both made an attempt at looking dignified as they left the bar, which was quickly abandoned in favour of hugging each other for stability. Raymond vaguely remembered his internal promise not to get drunk again after his wild night with the 99 boys. In his defence, this was the first time he had broken it. 

All of a sudden, Kevin looked very worried.

“The last train went at half past eleven.”

“Seeing as it is my fault that you are stuck out here, I would offer to get you a taxi, but I spent all of my money in the bar and I do not have a credit card.” Kevin looked seriously concerned.

Suddenly, Raymond was struck by inspiration. 

“My apartment is only a couple of blocks from here. You can sleep over if you would like. I will take the sofa.” He added the last bit quickly. 

“That would be wonderful. I will take the sofa; it is only fair since you are offering the apartment to me. I will even take you to bed-”

Kevin stopped very abruptly as he realised what he had just said. “Not- like that of course- “

“I understand. Let’s just get you to bed, shall we?”

Raymond clutched Kevin close to him as they walked to his apartment. They eventually made it, talking and laughing the whole way. Kevin had to guide his hand to the keyhole as Raymond tried and failed to slot it in. Normally this would have been infuriating: in the company of this man, it was nothing short of hilarious. He was almost disappointed when the lock clicked into place, sending the door swinging open against both of their weights. 

“The bedroom is this way.”

Kevin wiggled his eyebrows. “I could get used to hearing you say that.” 

Although Raymond felt much the same way, he recognised the need for some decorum. 

“And I want you to get used to getting some beauty sleep. The guest pyjamas are underneath the right nightstand.”

The other man maddeningly wrapped both arms around his neck, facing him. 

“Absolutely not. Go to sleep.”

“If that is what you really want…”

Kevin collapsed onto the bed, falling asleep instantly.

* * *

At around 06:30, Raymond woke up to the sound of his alarm. The memory loss that usually accompanied his drunken escapades was not present: it had been replaced with a crystal-clear image of his companion. Almost on auto-pilot, he walked over to the sink and made himself a glass of water. Then he remembered his guest and made another glass. 

_Only water?_

_Surely his guest would want something… a little more._

It was time for breakfast in bed. He could only hope that Kevin shared his preference for plain bagels.

Around half an hour later, Raymond’s meagre attempt at a breakfast spread sat in front of him. It was not much, especially given his preference for plain foods, but he hoped that his guest would like it. Carefully placing various plates onto his tray, he made his way over to his bedroom door. Then he was struck with a horrible thought. What if Kevin was not a morning person? He would not have woken up by then, and would have no choice but to eat cold toast. 

He gave the door a single experimental knock, and mercifully, he got a reply.

“Come in.”

Balancing the tray on his arm, Raymond pushed open the door. All the sings indicated that Kevin had been up for some time. He was sat on top of the sheets, wearing the guest pyjamas. His clothes were neatly folded next to the bed. And, most obviously, the copy of the New Yorker that Raymond had been reading was placed at a slightly different angle to how he had left it. Upon seeing the spread Raymond had prepared, his face lit up. 

“Bagels? My my, you really are spoiling me.”

Raymond felt a warm glow spread through his body as he handed over the tray. Kevin precariously balanced it on his knees, before realising it would settle much better on his lap. He began to sip the coffee. Black, like he had ordered at the café. 

“May I sit down?”

“This is your bed.”

Raymond perched on the end of the bed, curling his legs underneath him. 

“That looks uncomfortable; at least sit next to me.” Kevin shifted over, allowing Raymond to slide in to his right. He slid the tray between both of their laps, disrupting the surface water and making it dangerously close to spilling over. They simultaneously placed their hands over the rim. Kevin obviously didn’t want to remove his hand, as what followed was his attempt to drink his coffee with his non-dominant hand, resulting in him spilling a few drops down his front. It was clumsy and adorable and Raymond loved it. 

“I apologise, I will clean these and send them back to you- “

“No need, they wanted a wash anyway.” This was a lie. He washed them after every use. Not that it mattered, seeing as Madeline was the only person who wore them. 

Kevin bit into a slice of buttered toast. 

“Would you like the other slice?”

“Why, is there something wrong with them?”

“No, of course not! I just want to save my appetite for the bagels, and I thought you might be hungry.”

“That would be nice, actually.” Raymond took a bite. It was adequate: toast was never going to be classed as fine cuisine. At least that was what he thought; Kevin’s expression while eating it was akin to one who had just dined with the kings. 

The pair sat in blissful silence for a while, Kevin making his way through his breakfast, Raymond resuming his copy of the New Yorker. Once Kevin had finished – on a high note, with the plain bagels – Raymond pulled his head onto his shoulder so they could both read. Kevin gradually shifted closer, being pulled in by Raymond’s tightening embrace. By the time they reached the final page Kevin was practically on his lap. 

“I know that you probably want to leave now- “

“No I don’t.” he said in a single breath.

“That is good, because I do not want you to leave.”

“I am not normally one for hyperbole, but I could honestly stay here forever.”

“I agree. Shall we at least make ourselves comfortable?”

Kevin removed the empty tray from their laps, carefully placing it on the floor beside the bed. He then spread the pillows so that they had a whole one to themselves. Raymond took the time to change into his pyjamas, an absurd notion considering the time of day, but one that felt strangely fitting considering the circumstances. As a final touch, the pair lay flat on the bed, facing each other. 

“This is… completely absurd.”

“But not a development I am unhappy with.”

“I agree.”

“I have just one more proposition.” Raymond moved ever so slightly closer.

Kevin’s eyes widened. “What kind of thing are you proposing?”

He moved closer again. “Well, if your drunken comments last night were any indication that you feel the same way as I do, and I do apologise if you got caught in the heat of the moment… I think we should become just a little closer.” He edged closer again, so much so that their bodies were almost touching. 

“I think I might have a little idea what you are talking about.”

“I- “

And before Raymond could say another word, Kevin kissed him.

It was the most magnificent feeling. They moved in a perfect, almost rehearsed rhythm, so much so that it was hard to believe that they had never done this before, that they had not been born to do this. Kevin slipped his fingers into Raymond’s black curls, pulling him closer. In response, Raymond flipped Kevin under him, the body under him providing a pleasant warmth. He moved his hands down to grip Kevin’s thighs as Kevin wrapped his arms around his neck and pulling his entire chest onto his own. Kevin wrapped his legs around his torso, bringing his entire weight onto his body and leaving them with no choice but to sink into the mattress. He nuzzled his face into Kevin’s exposed neck, leaving little kisses as he lay there. They lay like this for a few minutes, trading sweet nothings interspersed with terms of endearment. However, it became quickly apparent that Kevin was not satisfied, a message that was sent loud and clear by his hands working their way under Raymond’s shirt and up his back. 

Two could play at that game.

Slipping a finger in between a gap in Kevin’s pyjama top, Raymond skilfully undid the buttons, allowing the top to slip off his shoulders and sliding down to his elbows, exposing his chest. Kevin promptly attempted the same thing and succeeding, all be it with significantly less grace. In the meantime, Raymond had taken to fingering the waistband of Kevin’s bottoms, toying with the drawstring bow coming from the front. They had reached the point of no return. 

“May I?”

Kevin pulling him down into another kiss was answer enough. With a flick of the finger the bow came loose, allowing Raymond to slot his fingers into the waistband, pulling the trousers down. 

Although he had seemed enthusiastic before, now that he was naked, Kevin seemed to be having second thoughts.

“I’ve never done this before.” He wore a bashful smile that was, in his opinion, too cute to be allowed. 

Raymond chuckled, a low, throaty sound. “A man as attractive as you? I guess the world has been missing out.” 

“It just feels strange to be doing this with someone that I’ve known for less than a day.” 

“We can stop any time; I want this to be comfortable for you.” 

Kevin’s resolve hardened. “I suppose that now is a good a time as any.”

“I suppose that it is.”

The rest of the day was spent proving just how true that statement was.

* * *

On Monday, Raymond walked into the precinct with a spring in his step.

“Madeline, do you remember our bet?”

She smiled disarmingly. “The one where I get to set you up with somebody without your knowledge, yes?”

“I do not believe I need setting up anymore.” Raymond had won, he was sure of it. Then he looked at her. 

“Why do you look so happy? I won, I found someone without your help!”

Madeline looked sceptical. “Was it really without my help? I did give you the phone.”

“You are a Seargent, it is your job to assign tasks to those best suited to them. The fact I was best suited to take this call speaks to your skill as a boss, and not as a matchmaker.”

Madeline made eye contact, smiling maddeningly. “Do you think I couldn’t have taken that call if I wanted to? I go to history seminars for fun: of course I know about historical law enforcement!”

“Why not take the call yourself then?”

“Because I went on a date with the man years ago. You knew that!”

“So, you did not take the call because it was awkward for you, passing it off onto a lower employee? Again, that is just how the chain of command works, or at least how you think it works.”

“Partially, but also because I think I know why he rejected me. I thought everything was too good to be true; a history enthusiast, good looking, not at all like our friends over at the 99- and I was right. Do you want to know the truth?”

“Yes, obviously.” Madeline continued.

“He did call me back, and in response I told him that he was living a lie.”

“And he still asked you to be a source on his article? I know your date was years ago, but he is still a lot braver than I gave him credit for.”

“I actually called him first, when I needed a date for my sister’s wedding. I just _happened_ to mention my single male friend who shares my interest in times gone by, and how I might be able to put them in touch.”

“And now was just a convenient excuse?”

“I did say that he could call any time. I only made the bet so you would be obliged to give him a chance.”

“I chose to meet with him!”

“I was the one who said you were available to meet in person. You owe me at least partial credit, and we both know it.”

He deflated. Yet again, Madeline had won.

“I… suppose I do.”

Madeline smiled and leaned back, pressing her fingertips together.

“I can never get one over on you, can I?” Raymond sighed, but could not conceal the note of mirth in his voice.

“Do you really want to?”

“Yes, obviously”

“You shouldn’t want to in this case?”

“Why should I not?” After all, victory is the ultimate goal in life.

“Raymond, I just set you up with your future husband.”

Now it was Raymond’s turn to sit back as the gravity of that statement hit him. Sure, it was only a first date and there was still plenty to learn about each other and sure, gay marriage was not legal and would likely not be for a very long time, but he liked the way that that statement sounded all the same. Kevin Cozner, his husband.

Perhaps they had both won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Predictable? Yes. Any less enjoyable to write? No. I love my socially awkward nerds so much.
> 
> The story about stealing a historical artefact from a museum to prove a point happened in real life: the document stolen was a letter from Churchill, and it was done by a member of staff to persuade the curator to put CCTV around the exhibit. CCTV was installed the next day. 
> 
> This chapter inspired me to ask my friends whether a croissant is a dessert: three quarters of them made the right choice and agreed that they aren’t. My girlfriend pointed out the existence of chocolate-filled croissants, which are an abomination and shouldn’t even count as food.


	10. Madeline's Apartment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raymond makes the worst decision of his life. Consequences ensue.

Twenty thousand dollars. 

He had lost everything.

It had happened very fast; then almost in slow motion. Caught up in the excitement of bar, he had gone over to the bookie and placed a far-too-large bet. Then it went up. And up. So much up that the people around him looked incredulously, and at this point common sense and reason had been replaced with alcohol and a reckless abandon that came with being the centre of attention and by the time he was done he didn’t even know what he was writing on the cheque. 

Then the jockey fell down from his horse.

And then his life fell down around him.

He left the bar in a daze, not fully processing what had happened to him. A numb shock consumed him, aided and abetted by the beer bottle still clutched in his hand. He let go of it, not really hearing the dismal smash ricocheting off the buildings around him. The excited shrieks of the night fell on deaf ears. It was as though he was submerged deep in the ocean, an altered reality shimmering around him, nothing penetrating the icy depths. 

Then he broke the surface, and the world came into itself again. The laughter around him turned into a cruel shriek, taunting him like the fool he was. A jester jumping around their fallen king, the sudden assault on his ears like bells on a stick. Dance, dance, play the dunces’ tune, he thought. At least a king would have endless riches to fall back on. He would be lucky to afford basic necessities, and as for anything else? He was normally against ignoring difficult truths, but right now it was the only thing he felt he could do. Right now, the only thing he knew he wasn’t going to do was ask anyone else for help. He had dug himself into this hole, and he was going to climb back out of it. He forced one foot in front of another, trying to break through the doubts overtaking his brain. If Kevin found out about his crippling debt he would break up with him, no question. But that was not the worst part. If he lost his apartment, where would he sleep at night? And if he couldn’t get any sleep, he would no doubt fail to do his job, consequently losing it, which would make Madeline never speak to him again, meaning he would starve to death alone and friendless-

He abruptly stopped this train of thought. It was time to stop fretting over the what-ifs and start putting together a concrete plan. Start with what you have and work up. He had not lost his job- yet. His pride might stop him sleeping at the precinct, but his basic human needs would likely convince him otherwise. Kevin was blissfully unaware of his plight right now, and their relationship was in an early enough stage that he could justify not ‘spilling’, as his sister would say. This was his burden to carry. The same went for his mother and sister. They had long come to terms with his distaste for sharing intimate details of his life, and his mother at least shared his views. His sister was more of a talker than a listener, and for the first time ever he was grateful for that fact. The people at his fencing club didn’t communicate far beyond basic small talk, and his colleagues didn’t talk to him at all. 

There was just one person he would struggle to keep his loss from. People keep secrets from their friends all the time. It was a plot point in many a TV show, assuming he was inferring his colleagues’ conversations about popular culture correctly. They had long since established trust between them, and had a consistent pattern of not talking about their personal lives unless they absolutely had to. He knew that if he did not say anything overtly out of character, his friend would not suspect a thing. 

There was just one unfortunate roadblock.

Most people’s friends were not the best detective in the NYPD.

* * *

Raymond walked into the precinct, looking and acting exactly the way he always did. He set two mugs of black coffee on the table; again, like he always did. Madeline had not looked up. She didn’t suspect a thing. Now, for a normal greeting.

“Good morning Madeline! How was your night?”

“Alright.”

So far, so good. She still hadn’t looked up, 

“Good. Has your sister had her baby yet?”

“Raymond, what’s wrong?”

“Why would anything be wrong?” 

“It’s just- you know what, it doesn’t matter. Come to my apartment after work. We’ll talk about it then.”

* * *

“Raymond, Raymond, Raymond, Raymond.”

“How many times are you going to repeat my name?”

“Four times.”

Raymond raised an eyebrow.

“It represents the four seconds it took for me to work out that you were hiding something.”

“I don’t know why you think I’m hiding anything, because I’m not.”

Even as the words left his mouth, he noticed his gratuitous use of contractions. Damn it.

Madeline chuckled. “It’s hard to get the truth out of hardened criminals. My colleague, who I work with every day and know intimately, is a little less difficult.”

Raymond grunted. She was right. As always. Despite the dawning inevitability of his confession, he fully intended to dart around it for as long as possible.

“Know intimately? Do you know anything about my personal life?”

“Do I even need to answer that?”

“Is that the sound of someone who doesn’t know something?” He knew that she knew more about him than anyone else, but he pressed on: partially to buy more time, but mostly because he was genuinely curious about how much of his life he had divulged to her, intentionally or otherwise.

“I could tell you that you have a mother, a sister, and a long-distance boyfriend, but that would be boring.” He knew that Madeline had known all of this: he had given up this information willingly. “I also know that you are a member of a fencing club… and that you are rather fond of the ponies.” He winced as she said it, but regained a straight face quickly. This did not go unnoticed by Madeline, who was now staring at him intently. He could almost hear the cogs whirring in her brain. Suddenly, she sat up poker straight and Raymond had seen her make a solve enough times to know that this meant nothing good for him.

“Raymond, you can correct me if I’m wrong, but I rather suspect that you gambled more than you could afford last night and are now in dire financial straits, as suggested by you asking me specifically about what I did last night despite us both knowing I have no hobbies or friends outside of work. The amount of money lost is significant enough to make you worry about how you are going to afford rent and other necessities, leading you to make our morning coffee rather than buy it from our usual diner. You asked me about my family even though you know we don’t get on, which suggests that your belief in not involving others in your personal life has led you to conceal this information from your family, leaving you feeling isolated and not knowing where to turn. Thus, the solve.”

Raymond leaned back, stunned into silence. She had read him perfectly, perhaps even better than he himself could have.

Her next statement was shocking, to say the least.

“Raymond, you’re my best friend.”

He paused for a second before speaking. “I assumed as much, but…what does that have to do with anything?” He knew it was selfish of him to think this, but he wasn’t sure how this was relevant to his life crashing down around him. “That does not mean that you have to pity me.”

“I don’t. Your mistakes don’t make me think any differently of you. “

Burning curiosity overcame him. “…What do you think of me?”

“You inspire me to be the best version of myself.”

“I… do not know how to respond to that.”

“You don’t have to.” When Raymond did indeed not respond, she continued. “I say you inspire me to be the best version of myself because I mean it. I used to feel like I was working for the sake of working. Just doing the same thing, day in, day out. But now, I have someone to combat me. An equal… almost.” Madeline paused to smile at him. He returned the gesture before she continued. “Our relationship is like an epic chess match, and I’m always waiting for you to make the next move. Do you think I would have nearly as many arrests if it wasn’t for you?“

The logical part of his brain made him think that yes, his presence should have no impact on her arrest numbers, or anything else in her life for that matter. However, he suspected that this was not the case.

“Think about our bet, and all the overtime we put in just to best each other. It was just numbers, we didn’t have to do that. But for whatever reason, we did.”

“It was for victory!”

“Was it though?”

“Yes, of course…” He trailed off. The more he thought about it, the less it made sense. Of course, they were both competitive people. They fought and they fought and nothing really changed. But why? He had nothing to prove to her or anyone else: his colleagues hated him regardless of whether he got five arrests or five hundred. But at the end of the day, they were friends. Best friends, as Madeline had just said. 

“I don’t know about you, but the main reason I tried so hard and stayed so late was to spend time with you.” Madeline looked at her feet, almost ashamed of what she had just said.

“I suppose it felt nice to work with someone who I felt I could trust.” 

“It was more than just trust.” 

Before Raymond could dwell on that statement, she was speaking again. “You can sleep on the sofa if you want. For as long as you want, if you end up losing the apartment.” 

“Are you sure? I might be here for a while, I lost a lot of money…” 

“I’m sure. After all, it’s what friends are for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the shorter chapter! My life has been really hectic lately so I haven’t found much time to write. It might be a while until the next chapter but I promise I haven’t abandoned this. 
> 
> As always, comments are not only welcome but encouraged.


	11. Queen's Park Elementary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pair are ‘persuaded’ into spending the day at an elementary school... with a few familiar faces.

####  **1991**

* * *

“…It felt like I was floating on a bowl of katsudon. I highly recommend going if you have the chance.”

“If I’m telling the truth, I’m not sure I could enter the hot springs nude, and since that seems to be the main draw of the place, I’m not sure it would be worth it.”

“There was an ice rink, I found myself enjoying that far more than I thought I would, even if Kevin did not.” He paused to chuckle, thinking fondly of both of them clutching onto the edges. “Admittedly, it was somewhat annoying watching young children do tricks like it was nothing while we struggled.”

“Sure thing Ray-Ray, like you did any better.” The captain had arrived, or had been there the whole time, they weren’t sure. Although he was right about Raymond’s ice skating prowess- or more accurately, his lack of it- he was not going to give him that satisfaction. 

“Actually, it isn’t that hard when you find your balance. It’s mostly about confidence.”

The captain guffawed loudly. “Well, since you seem to like children and confidence so much, I have a special assignment.”

The words ‘special assignment’ meant only two things; something heinously dangerous or heinously boring. The former may have been worrying, but it was the latter that filled most peoples’ heart with dread.

“Parade duty again?”

“No, something worse.”

Madeline cut in. “You’re talking to the man who got attacked by a terrorist on a plane, could it be much more dangerous than that?”

“Far, far, worse.”

* * *

The hall was covered in paint, finger marks adorning every surface. Opposite them was a display of paper plates, faces sloppily drawn, various colours of wool taped to the sides of each plate. More worryingly, there were hundreds of children sat in front of them, legs crossed and fidgeting. A teacher took hold of the microphone in front of them and cleared her throat.

“Good morning Queen’s Park Elementary!” The voice came out crackly, the speakers emitting a high whine towards the end. A chorus of _good morning everyone_ rose from below them. “Today, we have two lovely people from the NYPD,” she emphasised those letters, smiling widely, “And they are going to talk to us about what they do for the community and how you can help.” How they can help? That wasn’t part of the brief! Madeline turned to him; her concern apparent despite the pigeon mask obscuring her face. However, he regained his composure quickly and took the microphone being offered to him. After all, thinking on his feet was part of his job description. 

“Good morning Queen’s Park! Today, me and Pepper the Pigeon are going to give you a little talk about a day in our lives…”

* * *

__

_“I’m not wearing the pigeon! You wear it, this is your assignment.” Madeline passed him the pigeon helmet. “I’m only here because I’m such a great friend.”_

_“What was that? I only heard the bit saying it’s my assignment, which is why I should be the one giving the speech.” Raymond pushed it back into her arms._

_“Please don’t make me pull rank, Raymond.”_

_“Hopefully, as of next month that will not be an option for you anymore.”_

_“That is true. Speaking of, how is your essay going?”_

_“Surprisingly, very well. I read yours for inspiration- take that pigeon head back!” He batted it away from him._

_Madeline raised her eyebrows. “Give me one good reason.”_

_Raymond looked at their briefing folder, searching for ammunition. She was here (somewhat) by choice, after all. Madeline took the opportunity to place the head squarely on his lap._

_“You dislike children, do you not? Do you want to have to interact with them more than necessary?”_

_“I also dislike breathing in whatever the last person who wore this had for lunch. You’re going to need a more convincing argument than that.”_

_“Firstly, that would never hold up in debate, and secondly, the school in question is very close to where your sister had her wedding, which is not relevant but I still thought it was interesting. “_

_Madeline paused. “Queen’s Park?”_

_“The very same.”_

_“That’s where my sister’s eldest two children go.”_

_“Oh, well I guess it would be nice for them to see their auntie, especially as she and mommy do not get along- “_

_“Raymond, give me the head.”_

_“That sounds rather like an innuendo- “_

_“I said give me the head.”_

__

* * *

“…And that brings us to the end of our talk! Does anyone have any questions for me and Pepper?”

A sea of hands shot up. Raymond pointed at a boy with curly brown hair. “What’s your question?”

“What’s the coolest mission you’ve ever been on?”

“Well, it was somewhat violent so I do not think I should say it- “

If the expressions of the teachers around him were any indication, this was exactly the wrong thing to say. He made to choose someone else but the teacher stopped him.

“Well, I suppose the man could share _some_ details…”

“Cool cool cool!” The curly-haired boy was bouncing up and down in his place.

“I was on a plane and I had to guard a very bad person- “

“Like in Passenger 57?”

“Well they did make a movie out of it; it was highly dramatized though.” The expressions of the children in the room shifted from mildly interested to wide-eyed and curious. 

“Yeah, Mommy took me to see it when Daddy left! It was so cool when the main guy shot-”

Madeline was franticly waving her pigeon arms, but the message she was trying to convey was lost somewhere in the mountain of faux feathers. 

“Jake Peralta, come and see me in my office after this assembly. Would you like to choose someone else… Detective? Is that the right word?” He nodded, then pointed at a girl with ginger bunches sitting a row behind. She was smirking with a certain brand of creepiness only a young child could achieve. “What would you like to ask?”

“Do you guys get paid a lot?”

If there was one thing children were good at, it was brutal honesty. The teacher cut in, obviously embarrassed. 

“I don’t know if the man wants to answer that.”

“It is ok, I can give a general idea. You start with around $25,000 a year as a beat cop, which will probably be more by the time you guys are old enough to join because of inflation, and as you get promoted through the ranks you get more and more, with extra for overtime. Does that answer your question young lady?”

“Yeah, I love money. Also, if inflation gives us more money why don’t we inflate everything all the time?”

“It’s not a good thing because of - never mind, you’re too young to understand.” Of course, he had understood the ins and outs of the US economy from the age of four, but he had been informed by his sister that the average child did not share his passion for macaroni educational spending infographics. Marcus was more partial to eating the pasta, raw. 

“That sucks! We need more money! Why are you hiding it from us!”

“Agreed, money is dope.” A Latina girl with dark brown curls piped up, obviously hellbent on destroying the economy. 

“Miss Linetti, Miss Diaz, unless you have something constructive to ask please don’t talk at all. Do you?” the teacher said, obviously expecting the two to fall silent. Evidently not. 

“Do I get a gun?”

“Rosa we’re in America, everyone gets a gun!” 

Raymond was well and truly out of his depth. Attempting to bring some kind of control back while still answering questions, he spoke into his microphone. “Young lady, not everybody gets a gun. You need special training if you want that, and although the NYPD does provide that, you are not allowed to use it to shoot whoever you want.”

“That’s lame. I’ll still join though.”

“Yeah, I bet they’d let me use my hairspray lighter trick. Bam, bam- “

The teacher snatched the microphone from Raymond and shouted down it. “Miss Linetti, Miss Diaz, both of you need to come with me now!” At least that was what it sounded like she had said. Most of it had been lost to the screech of the microphone, prompting everyone to put their hands over their ears. For the first time, he wished he was wearing the pigeon costume. Once the two girls had been dragged out of the assembly (kicking and screaming the whole way), the teacher spoke again. “Does anyone have any _sensible_ questions for our guest speaker?”

The rest of the assembly went smoothly, with the questions ranging from whether they were allowed to use sirens to whether the entrance exams were hard. The answer to both questions was yes. At long last, the teacher spoke again.

“Well, this has been a wonderful experience, aside from that _one_ little mishap. Everyone give them a clap!” Enthusiastic applause followed. “Now for some good news! Each grade will be spending a lesson today doing a little workshop with our friends here. And if I heard correctly… you might be allowed to use the sirens!” Cheers re-erupted from the pool of students in front of them. 

That was NOT on the agenda. Were they even allowed to let other people touch their gear? More importantly, who decided this was a good idea? What on earth were they going to do?  
Well, there was only one thing they could do.

* * *

Immediately after the assembly had ended, Raymond had sent an angry fax straight back to the precinct. The reply said to ‘just go with it’, so they had franticly grabbed everything out of the boot of their police car and chosen whatever was the least likely to murder a child to display. Their guns, although unloaded and on safety, had not made the cut, figuring that encouraging young children to use guns was a bad idea. The 4th grade class now sat in front of them showed every emotion from nerves to excitement. 

“Ok so… how about we split up? Raymond, you take class 4A out to the car, and I’ll keep class 4B in here to show them some tools we use on a day-to-day basis to keep these streets safe.” This was clearly aimed at the children, and they separated obediently. The other class promptly filed out into the car park where the police car sat. Madeline hoped the neighbours weren’t asleep. Now that the class size had halved, she was able to take a better look at the students. She thought she recognised three of them from the assembly, although the pigeon costume had obscured her vision so much that any curly-haired child could have been the boy who apparently watched R-rated action movies. She cleared her throat and the class fully faced her. One final look confirmed that this class did indeed contain the three children from earlier.

“So, today I am going to show you some cool gadgets and tricks that we use to do our jobs. So, we spot a perp – that’s what we call criminals- from across the street. He hasn’t spotted us yet- “

The curly-haired girl from earlier spoke up. “Can’t girls be criminals too?”

The teacher was clearly about to tell her to be quiet, but Madeline spoke first.”

“What’s your name?”

“Rosa Diaz.”

“Rosa, you are absolutely right. Anyone can be a criminal, and anyone can be a police officer.”

“That’s dope.”

“Today’s criminal is a boy though- and in fact he is… you!” She pointed at a boy in the front row. “What’s your name?”

“Nate Sutton.”

“Well, Nate, if you stand over there, I can take your photo with this digital camera so that even if you run away all the detectives can see what you look like.” She clicked the camera a few times. “Kids, the cool thing about this camera is that you can see it on this screen straight away! Come and have a look!” The kids gathered around, and lo and behold, there was a grainy image on the small camera screen. Even the teacher looked intrigued at this device. 

The girl called Gina looked intrigued. “So you don’t have to pay to get it developed?”

“No, you just need to plug it into a printer. I would show you but we don’t have a printer.”

“That’s cool. Can I have it so Jake can take pictures of me?” Gina pulled on the camera.

“Unfortunately, not, they are very expensive,” said Madeline, hastily snatching it away.

Curly-haired boy piped up. “I don’t want to take pictures of you anyway!”

Rosa shot Jake a look. “Gina’s face is stupid and I’ll take pictures to burn them.”

“Yeah, because I’m smoking hot.” Gina poked her tongue out at the other two.

The teacher butted in. “Is that really appropriate language Gina?”

Sensing that she was losing control, Madeline resorted to a strategy she had often used on her baby sister and beat cops alike: distraction via shiny objects.

“Ok, so we’ve caught the perp and we need to stop him from fighting us. Who wants to try out these handcuffs?”

* * *

“You know, maybe children aren’t that bad after all. One girl asked why women couldn’t be criminals. I wish everyone thought like her- well, not the criminal bit.” 

Raymond did not reply, so Madeline kept on talking. “To be honest, this day is almost enough to make me forget the traumatic experience of being a youth pastor- well, maybe not completely.” She shuddered as the memories of distributing flesh-coloured crayons returned to her. Why would Jesus be white anyway? 

“Madeline, in the nicest way possible, I have spent all day having young children turn on this car’s siren and am now bearing a rather impressive headache. Please stop talking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is the single longest thing I’ve ever written and it’s not even finished! 
> 
> I think 8-year-olds would be in elementary school? I’m from the UK so I’m not sure.
> 
> I know Jake and Rosa met in the academy but the mental image of the three going to school together was too funny not to include and I’m honestly considering making a fic out of it.


	12. 73rd Precinct, Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raymond receives news that could make or break his career.

####  **1995**

“…So, as many of you are no doubt aware, there has been a recent spike in hospital admissions due to ecstasy usage; we have been given funding for a taskforce to combat this. Anyone wishing to join the taskforce can apply to me. That will be all unless anyone has any…announcements?” Madeline, or _Lieutenant_ Wuntch as everyone now had to call her, looked pointedly over at Raymond.

There was a shout from the back of the room. “Didn’t know his kind got engaged!”

Madeline ignored this comment and pressed on. “The contents of this envelope reveal whether Detective Holt has become a Sargent. If he has been successful, he will be leading the detectives alongside myself. The rest of you are dismissed, Detective Holt come and see me.” As soon as the other officers left, she sat down at the table he was on, dossier in hand. She placed it on the table, Raymond’s name and the NYPD logo emblazoned on the front and facing upwards. 

“Well, here it is. Tell me how you do.”

“I’m not going to tell you…anything.” His nerves had put him on edge. And she was all too ready to play ball. She rolled her eyes in mock exasperation.

“Please don’t make me pull the superior officer card.”

“As a senior NYPD officer, you surely know that forcing me to share a private document would be against the code of conduct.”

“I helped you study for the damn exam: I’ve earned this right.”

“And you think that your help means that I, as the officers would say, _owe you one?_ ”

“Also that you once lived in my apartment for three months, rent-free.”

“I suppose that makes you think that whatever boundaries we might have once had have dissolved?”

“Yes, long since.” Madeline glanced him up and down. “We both know I would be the first person you showed this letter to anyway.”

Raymond paused for a second, raising an eyebrow in faux anger. 

“Did you not consider that I would maybe share this very important part of my life with my, suppose, partner? Who I live with?”

“He hates shop talk. I doubt he even knows what a Sargent is”

Raymond planned a rebuttal, but stopped upon realising she was very likely right. He instead returned to opening the envelope while muttering something about _historical context_ and _he’s not completely oblivious_. 

“Come on, let’s look at the exams, and how low the standards have obviously fallen if they’re letting people like you even try out.”

Raymond picked up the slip of paper. “I received 94%. Truly, the standards have fallen.” He was not worried about this part of the exam: unsurprisingly, having a near-photographic memory served him extremely well. 

“I’ve never understood the point of multiple choice exams myself; you have a one in four chance of getting it right, even if you have no idea what the answer is. If you took the exam four times you could get all the answers right through process of elimination- not exactly a test of intelligence.”

“I suppose they have to let _some_ people pass.” They both looked over at their captain, who was fast asleep at his desk. Madeline brandished several stapled sheets, all covered in minute writing.

“And here we have a horror story, otherwise known as Raymond Holt’s essay. Tell me, how much of that new ecstasy did you do when you wrote this essay?”

Raymond felt a weight drop in his stomach. For the last few months, this essay had been front and centre in his mind. 

“For heaven’s sake, you didn’t even use an oxford comma!”

Raymond reached over, horrified. His guts were twisting inside him, throat constricting rapidly. 

Sensing his obvious nerves, she backtracked fast. “I was joking! About the oxford comma, I mean. The feedback is actually… I don’t know. You should read your own results.” She slid the sheet over to his side. 

Raymond had been very nervous about submitting this particular piece of writing. It detailed his experience as a black gay detective, fighting discrimination and profiling at every turn. The words themselves had come easily to him: after all, he had 16 years’ worth of stories to tell. At one point he went into painstaking detail about a racially-charged attack conducted by two senior officers. He had not reported it then, having long since learnt to pick his battles, but he said it now, stopping just short of naming the two officers involved. The essay came to its thrilling conclusion in which he detailed his radical new plans to make the force a better place for people who were not straight white men, drawing advice from Madeline when it came to addressing the last part of that statement. No, he had certainly not been short of content while writing it.

The real struggle had come with turning it in. 

Sure, this was what he had fought so hard for. And sure, this was indeed his goal as a superior officer, to try and bring about change in the force and the world as a whole. But doubts held him back the whole way. Was he being too radical? Was he ‘revealing himself’ and his so-called thirst for equality too early? Were there even enough officers who weren’t ‘normal people’, as his captain had once said, for him to bother fighting for? Doubts had plagued him the whole time. He had sat there, staring at the ink on the paper for hours. He had hoped that the words would somehow rearrange themselves into a more inoffensive essay that somehow portrayed the exact same message. At some point, he even began writing a second essay about a different, far safer topic, but discarded it, slightly disgusted with himself. It was strange how being anti-racist felt like too much of a statement. Was expressing a distaste to all the discrimination that had been thrown his way all these years really unexpected? It might be better to just rise through the ranks, only making change when he could do it at a suitably large scale. He had pondered for hours until the words of his essay blurred into one and tiredness set into every part of his body and Kevin was calling him upstairs to ‘destress a little’. He stayed up very late that night, and even later once Kevin had fallen asleep and he was left with nothing but his own fears about what would happen if he dared speak his truth. 

In the end, he decided to send it. Either they liked it… or they didn’t.

He stared at his feedback, not really reading it. He knew that he was already a Sargent. What he wasn’t sure about was whether he had just made some powerful enemies. Bile rose up in his throat as the words started to come into focus-

He couldn’t do it.

“Madeline.” He passed it over to her. “You read it.” He braced himself, internally wondering if the deputy chief who read the essays could get away with murder.

“Thank you for writing this.”

“Madeline, I am glad you like it but what-“

“No, that’s what it says. Thank you for writing this. Reading it made me a better person.”

“I…”

He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t think he would get this far. In his mind, he had only thought about the worst-case scenarios, the ones where he was kicked out of the NYPD and onto the streets again. A small part of him thought he was dreaming, but here those words were, clear as day on the slip of paper Madeline had just passed over to him. 

Thank you for writing this. Thank you for writing this. The phrase swam around in his head, feeling better and better with each iteration. He was a Sargent. He was one step closer to becoming commissioner and making the world a better place. And apparently, the world was opening up to that idea. He was coming dangerously close to (god forbid) _smiling_. 

Madeline had noticed this and looked up.

“They’res no need to get hysterical Raymond”

And it was that that pushed him over the edge and made his entire face break out in glee. He was as happy as the time that Kevin had declared that he loved him, having that confirmation that his sentiments were returned. And here it was again. Visual proof that the entire NYPD was not hell-bent on ruining his life. There was still a long way to go- he knew that. But for a brief, shining second, he could put those thoughts to the back of his mind and feel like there was some good in the world. 

He couldn’t wait to get started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the most eventful of chapters, I know! Hopefully the next chapter will more than make up for it :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's that time of year again- Tactical Village time! The squad face off against long time rivals, but are they going to get more than they bargained for?

####  **1997**

The excitement in the room was like crackling electricity, almost palpable as Sargent Holt walked into the precinct. Across the room were two detectives, as giddy as their stoic adult selves would let themselves be. As he sat down, Madeline smiled knowingly at him, for they knew what was about to happen., Today was the best day of the year: today, it was time to let off some steam at Tactical Village.  
Madeline stood up, loudly clearing her throat. Everyone in the precinct stopped to look at her as she began to speak in a tone not unlike the one she had used at the elementary school a few years back.

“As many of you are _undoubtedly_ aware, today is the day that we partake in our annual Tactical Village training exercise. You have all had the training briefing and are aware of the appropriate rules and regulations that you must adhere to, but let this be a final reminder: don’t try and be a hero. Even if you’re in the right, it’s not going to look that way.” 

“What, Derick Jeder still haunting your nightmares?” a beat cop from across the room shouted. 

The man next to him joined in. “You can say what you want about how it’s the sarge’s fault, but we all know you fucked the trap- “

Sensing that she had lost control of the room, Madeline raised her voice again. “No, I’m afraid of someone getting injured, or of us getting disqualified failing the exercise and making us lose to the 74, _again_ ” 

A chorus of boos echoed across the room. The 74 had dominated the exercise for the last six years using less than orthodox tactics, and they liked to let people know about it at every available opportunity. It had got so bad that the 99 had started a ‘coolest kill’ competition so that there would be some actual competition. This quickly evolved into people pretending to be action movie stars and fighting tooth and nail for the chance to win a children’s karate trophy- no, it was about _boosting morale_ or _creating incentive_ or something. It didn’t really matter; it was just a silly competition after all.

* * *

The pair sat next to each other in the officer’s waiting room, as usual. 

“So Raymond, how are you planning on winning the children’s karate trophy?”

“I’m not going to bother. I’m getting old and the young detectives watch far more action movies than me. They’ll have a better chance.”

Madeline looked him dead in the eyes.

“You want the coolest kill, don’t you?”

At this point in their friendship, lying to Madeline was completely futile.

“So, so badly.”

“The wild detective never truly left you, did it?” She chuckled.

“I was never wild; you take that back!”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I seem to remember the… action movie about you?”

“It was very dramatized.”

“The other detectives don’t need to know that. I suggest playing the movie in its entirety, then saying that it was inspired by you. If that doesn’t win, I don’t know what will.”

“That is ridiculous.”

“I suppose the kill does have to be against not-real people. Also, I’m not sure they’d believe you-”

“But the movie wasn’t real, so I could use it. Madeline, for once in your life you’re right about something.”

“I would say thank me later, but once Kevin sees you’ve bought home another worthless trinket, he might just kill you himself. In fact, I might just film it myself and submit it.”

“My partner has a policy of strict non-violence; I am sure that your tape will contain nothing but mild displeasure.”

A new voice filled the room. “Mild displeasure, just like your sex life?” The pair looked up, both recognising it. 

Despite the decade or so that had elapsed since they had last met, Hitchcock and Scully had changed very little. One’s hair might have thinned a little, the other’s wardrobe might no longer contain crop tops, but the smirks adorning their classically handsome faces remained as present as ever. And even after all these years, Raymond still didn’t know who was who. 

The one with the flat top (probably Scully) spoke. “If you’re talking about Kevin – that is your boyfriend, right – he could definitely kill a bitch.”

“Being calm the whole time, not even trying to dunk his trash in the can- all that energy has gotta go somewhere.”

Madeline joined in. “Also, he’s decided to spend his life with Raymond: he clearly has worse judgement than Field Marshall Haig.”

“I’m sorry,” Raymond interrupted, “How do you know Kevin?”

“See him at the dog park every morning when I’m taking out Kelly. Nice guy, if a bit of a know-it-all.”

This raised more questions than it answered. He knew, logically, that Kevin spoke to people and didn’t feel the need to tell him about it, and that any Brooklyn police officer with a dog would likely take them to the largest dog park in town. It just didn’t occur to him that these two parts of his life would come so close together. Hoping to get some more information, he spoke again.

“So, has anything interesting happened in your lives?”

“Well, Scully dated a girl out of pity- “

So that one was Scully! Him and Madeline had the briefest second of eye contact before returning their focus. 

Scully rolled his eyes. “I told you a million times, we went on a few dates and realised we wouldn’t be good together. The whole same-name-as-my-dog thing was the dealbreaker.”

“More like you were crazy out of her league and she was way too clingy, but we’ll go with the dog thing.”

“Hitchcock, how would you like to tell us about the Polish girl you hooked up with- “

“We’re at work Scully, keep it PG!”

“I was going to tell them about how you and Mila are very happy and getting married next year, or is there some other girl you thought I was going to bring up?” Scully said innocently. 

Hitchcock mumbled something about ‘ten years ago’ before returning his attention to the other two. “Madeline, Scully’s still single- if you want to be disappointed.” 

Madeline was about to deliver a sarcastic reply, but before she could say anything the door opened again. 

“If you’re wondering who’s going to win the best kill competition, look no further”

An unfamiliar figure walked into the room. Much like most people who entered this room, this person had a certain casual arrogance often associated with newly-promoted officers. Unlike most people who entered the room, the head attached to the t-shirt clad body clearly belonged to a woman. 

“Sargent Olivia Crawford, but you can call me meteor because I’m here to destroy some dinosaurs.”

Madeline had seen many a cocky officer throughout her career, but she had to admit that none had this woman’s sheer confidence. “Sargent, please treat your senior officers with some respect.” she said, almost bored.

“Of course! I’ll even help you cross the fake road- before I shoot you, of course.”

Madeline was quick to reply. “I wouldn’t worry about that. You won’t get close enough to me to even try.” 

“Your old-ass eyes won’t see me coming.” The woman leant against the wall, idly fiddling with her paintball gun. 

Raymond decided to – god forbid – help Madeline. “These old eyes will be reading my victory speech, don’t worry.”

“Will you even know who wins? This year, it’s all being done by email. Do you even know what email is?”

Hitchcock piped up “E-male would be a great name for a male escort service.” Everyone glared at him. “Just saying.”

Scully came to his defence. “We write those damn emails; we started the competition.”

“Sure, sure. Who’s going to take over when you die of old age in, say, a couple of years?”

None of them had any comeback for that. Eventually, Raymond broke the silence. “Do you know who else is here?”

“Everyone except the 74, who no doubt want to make a big entrance to remind us of their dominance.” She sighed. “Before punching someone in the face and getting away with it, of course.”

“They’re like the Patriots of this shit, except the Patriots have fans for some fucking reason.” Hitchcock leaned in his chair, tilting it back.

Raymond looked at Madeline, only to realise she also had no idea what a Patriot was.

“It doesn’t matter if you’re black or white, gay or straight, we can all come together and hate the 74.”

Hitchcock mimed wiping tears. “That was beautiful.”

The door opened yet again, allowing four or five officers to come in. He wondered if Olivia would have anything to say to them, but she had judged (almost certainly correctly) that this new crowd would not be as good humoured as they had been, and did not speak up. One of the men made their way to the front.

“Welcome officers, to Windenberg Tactical Village. You have doubtless been here many times already, and I need not remind you of the safety rules. There is just one announcement I have to make: the 74th precinct will not be joining us today.” This was not met with any reaction, as all the officers were working hard not to show any glee. 

Olivia spoke up. “Did they give any reason for their cancellation?”

“No, they did not- it was very last minute.” one of the other officers answered. 

“Even if they did, it would be none of Sargent Crawford’s, or anyone else’s, business.” the man speaking drawled. “That will be all, you know the drill. Dismissed.”

They quickly filed out of the room, eager to get started.

“That’s weird, the 74 love this shit! This is like, their Christmas.”

“I know right! Something real crazy must be happening for them all to be busy.”

“It is most peculiar. They have a drug taskforce, perhaps it is somehow related to that?”

“They had a major bust two days ago, I helped them organise it.”

Hitchcock bent down to pick up a paintball gun. “I reckon they tried to fuck with the paint and got themselves locked in; wouldn’t put it past them.”

“Nah, they got caught trying to build a paint bazooka to flood the arena.”

“I suppose they took ‘coolest kill’ a little bit too literally.” 

“Maybe they tried to become half squid like in those Japanese cartoons where- “ Hitchcock’s sentence was cut off by Scully clapping a hand over his mouth. While Hitchcock was wiping the paint from Scully’s hand off his face, Olivia came up beside them. “Maybe they’ve fallen into an alternate dimension where they’re likeable people.”

“Look, I can believe that they would cheat to win something that doesn’t really matter, or that they would bio-engineer themselves into squids, but _likeable people_? Be realistic.” Madeline deposited the paintball gun she was holding into Raymond’s lap and sat down for what felt like the tenth time today. Worst of all, they knew this was a long one. 

“Officers, welcome to Windenberg Tactical Village. First of all…”

* * *

“…and that will be all. The first precinct up will be…” The man paused to pull a number out of a bag. “…The 60th, so if they would like to get ready. The rest of you can use this time to develop a strategy.”

As the speaker hobbled away, the precincts reconvened.

“Does he think we are complete fools? Imagine coming here and deciding that the first time you think about strategy is now!”

Madeline produced a very thick binder and passed it to a detective. “If this is your first time thinking about strategy, you deserve to lose.”

Almost exactly on cue, the entire 60th precinct emerged from the doors, covered in paint. They were met with cheers and wolf-whistles from everyone in the hall. 

“That was… less than a minute. Nearly 20 years since we worked there and they’re still idiots.”

“No wonder you became a detective there so fast.”

“Oh look, it’s my old partner. He’s still a detective.” 

“Truly incredible.”

The man came up behind them, an eyebrow raised. Evidently, they had been overheard,

“For your cheek, your squad can go next. The 73, is it not?”

The squad perked up at the mention of their name. 

“Line up over there now. I hope you enjoy yourselves!” This was accompanied by his signature attempt at a jovial smile, one which always turned out remarkably sinister. 

Madeline turned to the squad, walking backwards to address them as they filed over to the door.

“Ok squad, we have a time of 28 minutes and 35 seconds to beat, set by the 74th 3 years ago. We’ve planned as well as we can, but remember that anything can go wrong. If you truly feel that deviating from your position is the best thing you can do, then do it. And most importantly- “

“Beat the 74?” Raymond suggested.

“I was going to say ‘don’t take any stupid risks just so that you can win a child’s karate trophy.”

“We cannot beat the 74 if we are all dead, I suppose.”

“Ok, we’re ready to start the clock.” The man holding the stopwatch turned to the crowd. 

“3…2…1…”

They all ran into the zone to the sounds of cheers. Paint dripped from nearly every available surface, giving the small area a distinctly chalky smell. There was no time to dwell on this though. As per the plan, Madeline and Raymond were tasked with patrolling the borders, while the other officers dealt with the interior. The officer who had bought up Derick Jeter earlier was on door duty, much to his discontent. Even after all these years it was still a sore spot. They began to make the rounds.

“Do you know why the 74 decided not to come today?”

“No idea. Why would I know?” 

“Maybe lieutenants were told more than us mere sargents? I’m not sure.”

“No idea. Why would I know?” 

“You are beginning to sound like a broken record.”

“I know, I’m just confused.” Her tone of voice suggested that she had something on her mind, but she was clearly not going to elaborate so Raymond didn’t press her.

They continued to patrol the border, their footsteps the only sound: probably a good thing. They looked around constantly, searching for any sign of habitation, but all they got was the fast-drying paint dripping down the walls. Even though this was impossible, it was almost as though they had gone into the wrong building. 

Several minutes passed, completely without incident. Not a shot, not a call, not even a shout. The complete lack of any activity was crushing. They continued to patrol, clinging to the edges. Eventually they came to a door. One slight push confirmed that it was unlocked. 

“Should we go in?” Raymond whispered. They had no real need to whisper: there was nobody around, yet he felt a strange inclination to blend into his surroundings.

“We don’t know if anything’s wrong. Stick to our post.” 

“I really think that we should go in. No communication? That cannot be good news.”

“It probably is, they haven’t met any bad guys yet.”

They remained still for a couple more seconds, the silence between them strangely defining. They looked at each other, then in one, singular motion:

“We’re going in.”

They entered the door, and were immediately greeted by- 

“Nothing.” Madeline took a few steps forward, not dropping her guard. “Have we won already?”

“They would never make it that easy.”

They inched forward, scanning their surroundings as they went, eyes flicking over every decrepit surface. 

“Am I the only one that feels- “

“Like they’re in the wrong place? You’re not alone.”

“If I did not know any better, I would say that we are alone.”

Several minutes passed: not a single shot was emitted. Something strange was afoot. 

“Should I say something to the rest of the squad?” Madeline raised the walkie talkie to her lips. 

“We have nothing to lose, I suppose.”

“Alpha Foxtrot to squad: does anybody have any intel? Over.”

“Negative. Over.”

“Seconded, over.”

“Thirded, over- “

“That’s enough. I want everyone to do a full sweep of the building.”

“Roger that. Wilco, out.”

Ten minutes passed, the only sound being that of footsteps and the occasional radio chatter. 

“I can’t help but feel something is wrong here.”

“I agree; where is everyone?”

Madeline picked up the walkie talkie yet again.

“Sargent Holt and I are going to attempt to leave the premises. If you don’t hear from us within five minutes, assume all is well and follow us.”

They made their way to the exit, abandoning any attempt at silence. They were standing in front of the exit before either of them spoke.

“Well that was a strange training exercise- “

“HANDS UP!”

Three men surrounded them, guns levelled. 

“Do it!”

Raymond looked around desperately for a method of escape, a split second of hesitation that earned him a bullet of paint straight to the chest. The click that broke the silence would have been a relief, had he not been essentially dead. Resigning themselves to what they should have known was going to happen, they both put down their guns and surrendered.

“You know that the squad are going to come now that you haven’t said anything- “

“Painfully aware.”

* * *

“Well that was horrible.”

The squad were sat in a circle, grumbling and defeated. 

“We did better than the 60th at least: only one of us got shot.”

“Better than the village idiots: great.”

“At least the 74th aren’t here to gloat.”

There was a murmur of ascent. They might hate losing, but they hated the 74 more.

The door swung open, revealing a very disgruntled and paint-covered 99th precinct being led by an equally disgruntled and paint-covered Hitchcock and Scully. 

“They didn’t even give us a chance! We opened the door and they went at it straight away!”

A detective fired back instantly. “At least you had a quick death! We just sat there for half an hour and they just didn’t show up, then they snuck up on us when we least expected it! That’s like, 74 level shit.”

Hitchcock rolled his eyes. “No-one in the 74 lasts two minutes.”

“Of course not! Their personal best is 27 minutes and… oh, wait.” Both squads laughed. 

The squads merged, forming little groups. The officers all sat together.

“Why would they make a challenge that is seemingly impossible?”

“Yeah, the point of this is to train detectives, not to make them feel like shit!”

“D’ya reckon the 74 planned this? If they can’t win, nobody can?” Sargent Crawford sat down next to them. “It’s the kind of thing they’d do, the petty bastards.”

“Are you implying that our fellow officers would sabotage something on a mass scale for their own selfish reasons?”

“Yeah, obviously.”

“If it’s good enough for the CIA, it’s good enough for them.”

Madeline looked sceptical. “They wouldn’t _really_ ruin an exercise for no reason…would they?”

“How would they even go about it?”

Hitchcock put on a faux British accent. “Hello Mr Officer, would you mind making sure nobody wins today?”

Scully chimed in. “Unrelated: do you want some cocaine? Toodles, we’re off to bribe some officials!” They both laughed.

Madeline pursed her lips. “I simply can’t believe that they would do this. What would they gain from it?”

“Maybe if we all do badly it affects funding or something.”

“You are all being illogical. How would they even rig this? Why?”

“They’re gonna use the funding for their drug trafficking ring- “ Crawford coughed theatrically. “-Sorry what was that?”

“You’re all being ridiculous. I’m going to contact their captain right away and ask why they aren’t here.” 

“That’s fine Maddie, but come back when you see the truth.” Hitchcock shouted after her

“Or when you need help with the email. Both are good!”

Raymond turned to the other three. “This behaviour is unacceptable! You are insulting a superior officer and insinuating that a precinct is involved in illegal activities on a mass scale. I have half a mind to report you three.”

“Great, so you’re acting like a grandpa now. I heard about you from other officers, I swear you used to be cool!”

“Cool? I was never cool; you take that back!”

“I watched your movie. You know the one where your superior officer makes you do something way beyond your abilities and then betrays you?” 

“That movie was heavily sensationalised.” 

“The point stands. The 74 betrayed us by selling drugs and dodging a training exercise, and you betrayed me by not being Wesley Snipes. Checkmate.”

By now, Madeline had returned. “They’re not picking up! I’m beginning to think that something suspicious is at play.”

“Like I said! They’re up to something.”’

“It’s four to one Sargent, we should check them out.”

“You know, beating corruption, making change- the thing you probably joined the force to do.”

That last sentence hit Raymond like a ton of bricks. Were they really implying that he wasn’t doing his duty? More importantly, how had Hitchcock of all people gotten such a good read on him?

“I suppose it can’t hurt to look- “

“Five rogue cops, fighting crime together, rising up against society, rubbing it on the 74s stupid faces- “ 

The last bit earned Crawford a reproachful glare from Madeline. “-Ok, I overstepped. You’re still coming, right?”

“Do you need me to come?”

“That’s what she said.”

“I suppose not, but- you are coming, right?”

Hitchcock and Scully spoke in unison. “That’s what she- “

“Yes, I’ll join you. On the condition that you stop making terrible jokes.”

“I’d like to see you do better.”

“Who are you, Chris Rock?”

“No, I am somebody waiting for the training exercise to be formally over so that we do not get disciplined for leaving early.”

* * *

“I’ve gotta admit, when I imagined bringing down a rogue drug ring, I imagined something a bit more glamorous than sitting outside in a police car.”

“What are we even going to do? We don’t have a plan, we have three guns between the five of us, we don’t even have solid evidence.”

“All we got is each other, baby.”

“Never say that again.”

“Yeah, realised as soon as I said it. “

A few minutes passed in silence, before Scully spoke up.

“So, we’re just gonna wait here?” 

“Yeah, pretty much. Would call for drugs backup but of course- “

“They all work here, yeah.”

“It is somewhat like our training exercise.”

“What, get shot straight away?”

“We don’t know what their squad did, moron.”

“They were in there for hours, I know that much.”

“We waited for around half an hour for anything to happen, then we got ambushed.”

“So what you’re saying is- “

“We should beat them to the punch? Probably, yeah.” 

“Madeline, since you are the superior officer, you should investigate.”

Madeline made a grumble of protest, but got out the car. 

“Alpha Foxtrot to squad. I’m going in; if you don’t hear from me within five minutes, assume that something is wrong and follow on. Over.”

“Wilco, out.”

She had scarcely been gone a minute before Crawford’s radio buzzed.

“Officer Crawford to Alpha Foxglove or whatever, what’s up, over.”

“Probably them, judging by the amount of substance in the first floor bathroom. Over.”

They all scrambled out of the car. Hitchcock rolled his eyes. “Don’t get high on your own supply, that’s entry level shit!”

The four of them crept upstairs, but met no obstacles. It seemed almost too easy to find the toilets, and even easier to find the drugs in the toilets. They hadn’t even tried to hide them! Arms laden with bricks of who-knew-what, they all made their way back to the car, but stopped just short of the exit. 

“Am I the only one who feels like this is too easy?”

“Yeah, it’s not just you. That much cocaine without an alarm? They can’t be that stupid.”

“They’re good at senseless violence but not much else perhaps?”

“No… I think they realised that if five officers went in and stole it without doing any prior paperwork or background checks, they would look extremely guilty?”

All five of them stood there, comprehending what he had just said.

“We need to get out.”

“Agreed.”

Without thinking, they dropped the bricks, sprinted to the back door, flung themselves into the car, and careered off, engine screeching in protest. Once they were half a mile away from the precinct, Crawford spoke up.

“So what was the point in all that then?”

“We were trying to be heroes, I suppose.”

“It’s like Madeline said at the start of the day: don’t try to be a hero, you’ll only end up embarrassing yourself.”

“For the last time, we aren’t in your precinct. “

“We probably never will be. Oh god, you as our boss-”

“That would be terrifying.”

"Agreed"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re wondering why Hitchcock and Scully are functional people now, remember that they never ate the slut sauce.  
> “Ok boomer” – Olivia Crawford, probably


	14. One Police Plaza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All good things must come to an end.

####  **2004**

* * *

The elevator pulled them upwards. Raymond almost wished that the cable would snap and send them plummeting to their deaths. 

The doors opened, chilly air filling the enclosed space. They stepped into the foyer, admiring the almost clinical feel of white marble and endless glass. Their parade shoes hitting the hard floor was the only sound as they made their way through the building, hearts in their mouths and butterflies in their stomachs. They weren’t sure why they were here, but what they did know was that when you were here, it was very rarely good news. Raymond’s head was swimming as he vaguely registered the number in front of him. This was the office of the new deputy commissioner, otherwise known as the man who could make or break his entire career just by lifting his pinky finger. There were two remarkably unfriendly chairs facing the door. They carefully placed themselves on them, making sure to sit as straight as humanly possible. As soon as they were in position, they exchanged a look. The meaning was clear: good luck. After a few minutes that felt like a few hours, the door was opened and a voice came from within the depths of monochrome hell.

“Lieutenant Holt, Lieutenant Wuntch, please, come in.” They stood up, entering the office one after the other. They were immediately hit with a wave of heat, the glass panel forming the left wall turning the room into a greenhouse. As if being invited to speak to the deputy commissioner of the NYPD wasn’t uncomfortable enough. They took seats, the heat of the plastic somehow seeping through their thick trousers. They were sat there for a solid minute before the man in front of them began to speak.

“Recently, we’ve had a lot of captains retire, including yours as I assume you must know.” They both nodded. Neither of them had been too upset about it, not that they were about to admit it. 

“I was looking through some arrest records to find some new candidates, and I have to say, you two jumped out at me! It’s honestly a scandal that neither of you have been promoted yet…I dare say, we all know why.” His expression darkened; the meaning of his words clear. He pressed on. “The point being, you two are potential choices for the new captain roles. I understand you two have quite an extensive history.” He gave a knowing look.

Raymond felt the need to speak up. “Not like that, sir.” 

“I know; I am aware of your personal life, lieutenant.” He knew what he was insinuating; what surprised him was the apparent lack of judgement. Maybe the old guard was dying out after all. “I was referring to your lifelong professional partnership. Never see one without the other!” His tone was jovial: the other two were unsure of whether to laugh or not, compromising with a smile. “Of course, I am sure you are aware that if you were to accept these promotions you would have to split up and captain different precincts.” 

Logically, he knew that they could still see each other any time outside of work, knew that she would never be more than an email away – yet it still shocked him. He supposed that after twenty-five years of sharing your life with somebody, it was reasonable to envisage a future in which they were always by your side. Just like he couldn’t imagine his home without Kevin, he couldn’t imagine his job without Madeline. After being together for so long, it felt almost inconceivable to separate them. 

“So, you both need external recommendations, from someone equal or higher than you. Normally I would ask your captain, but since he’s no longer on the force… how do you feel about writing for each other?” They both looked up, shocked. “I know it’s unorthodox, but nobody knows you two better than you two. Post the letters to me by next month. Dismissed!” 

As soon as they were out of earshot, Madeline began to talk. “Well, he seemed nice.”

“He is not racist, sexist, or homophobic. We might have a superior officer we can actually tolerate.”

“Never thought I’d see the day!”

They stepped into the waiting elevator. “Writing each other’s recommendations? What horrors are you going to put in mine?”

Madeline imitated the commissioner’s booming voice. “I know I said the job was as good as yours, but these letters have put me off entirely.”

“What’s this about a… fork tonged lizard witch? Actually, that might be good for fighting crime. You’re hired.” They both laughed; in Raymond’s opinion, for far too long. But he couldn’t bring himself to stop. The combination of released nerves, and the elation of finding an officer who finally accepted them, seemed too good to be true. 

There was just one catch; one that neither of them had dared to voice.

“You know that- “

“We would no longer be working together? Yes.” 

He said it with such finality that it almost scared him. 

“I suppose that it was inevitable.”

“This is an amazing opportunity, and we are going to see each other again…”

“It’s going to be harder than that to be free of me, I’m afraid.”

“I should hope so.”

* * *

“I’ve known you for the better part of thirty years, but the moment I have to write anything about you, my mind goes blank.”

“I would offer you some advice, but I am feeling much the same way.” Raymond bent over his hastily written notes, siltently willing themselves to form a coherent piece of writing. “Well, that is not strictly true – I have plenty of information, none of which presents you in a favourable light?”

“Like the time we broke into a precinct for no good reason? Yes, I suppose we should leave that out.”

“Be quiet! Kevin might hear us.”

“You didn’t tell Kevin? For shame, Raymond. For shame.”

“I did, and he politely requested that I never talk about work again.”

“Understandable.”

The pair worked in silence for a few more minutes, the faint scratching on paper and Kevin’s book club next door the only sounds.

“I just don’t think that facts give enough of a picture of who you are. All it shows is your glaring incompetence.”

“Are you honestly questioning the benefits of statistical analysis?”

“Yes.”

“If you were not currently holding my future in your hands, I would argue with you.” 

“Likewise.”

They got back to work and promptly found themselves desperately trying to shape their past misdeeds into positive talking points.

“Should I mention the time you disobeyed the first order you were ever given?”

“Depends, do I talk about the time that you went behind our captain’s back and got the SWAT team involved?”

“Which time?”

“That is a good point. We are not going to get anywhere.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing?”

“A good thing that we are going to turn in nothing? Are you out of your mind?”

“No… I think that we should write from the heart. The senior officers must know about us, maybe he likes that we do things a little differently?”

“By ‘a little differently’ do you mean blatantly ignore direct orders on multiple occasions?”

“Possibly. Either way, the point stands. They’re promoting us for a reason.”

“So you are saying that… we should be honest?”

“I suppose not starting a new chapter on a throne of lies might be _somewhat_ of a good idea…”

* * *

Madeline marched into the precinct, coffee in hand. She had obviously not had much sleep, as evidenced by her slamming her cup and marching over to the machine for a refill. Slamming the mug onto her desk, Madeline looked up at Raymond.

“I have good news and bad news.”

“Bad news first, please.”

“You don’t get a choice. The good news is that I finished your reference.”

“That’s excellent! May I see it?”

“That’s the bad news. I’ve already posted it. You’ll see it with your final letter, like everyone else.” She looked up. “I’m sorry, I was up all night and I wasn’t thinking straight- “

“It is fine – actually, I did the same thing.”

“Posted it in?”

“Yes, I thought it was best to bite the bullet.”

“Well… I suppose we will know when we know.”

“It’s no use dwelling on it. Have you prepared the notes for the briefing?”

####  **2005**

* * *

“…And here’s to a long and happy retirement!” A chorus of cheers came from the group. 

“Thank you, squad, for making my career as good as it could possibly be. Drinks on me!” 

Madeline lowered her voice. “You know what this means, right.”

“Our letters must have arrived.”

“Dare we ask?”

“No. Let’s enjoy tonight and read them tomorrow.”

“But then I will be thinking about it all night!”

“Not if you’re completely drunk you won’t! Free drinks, remember?”

“Now there is an offer I cannot refuse.”

* * *

“Raymond, I am surprised at you. It is most unlike you to drink so much.”

“I was worried about the letter and thought that drinking my problems away might help.” Raymond’s brain was thumping inside his ears. “I, of course, regret that now.”

“I bought you a glass of water and some painkillers: I would advise you to finish both.” He didn’t need to be told twice, consuming them like they were his last meal on earth.

“The old captain gave me the letter on our way out; he didn’t think you were in much of a state to read it. Not that he was much better, of course.” Kevin said with a wry chuckle.

“I have delayed opening it enough. I guess I am about to find out if my lifelong dream has come true.”

“Well, good luck, my love. Or I would say that if I believed in luck.”

Raymond opened the envelope, withdrawing the contents and spreading them neatly on the table. The pair of them peered down.

_  
To Raymond Holt,_

_We are delighted to inform you that you have been successful in your application for the position of Captain. Please find enclosed your entrance paperwork, formal certificate, and-_

“Madeline’s letter! I forgot about that.”

“I did not.”

“I suppose being loudly reminded in the middle of your book club does leave a mark on a person.” Kevin chuckled.

Raymond read through the provided documents, carefully avoiding the handwritten letter that had fallen onto the table from between the sheets. Kevin was doing his best to both read it upside down and appear like he was not reading it. 

“The letter must have been positive, otherwise they would not have accepted this application.” Raymond picked up the letter, taking a second to comprehend the neat script. His eyes scanned the preamble, somewhat generic words about his experience as a detective and leadership skills. They had gone over these sections together: no surprises there. No, it was the closing sentences that caught his eye. __

_Now, one might be wondering: what do I personally think of this man? Well, after spending the majority of my career with him by his side, I believe that I am very much qualified to answer that question._

“Well that is certainly true” They both laughed, partially out of dissipating nerves.

_Looking in as an outsider, one could possibly come to the conclusion that our relationship is that of bitter rivalry, built upon all manner of bets and petty taunts. In reality, I cannot think of anyone who inspires me the way he does, makes me become the best version of myself. I firmly believe that if it were not for his influence, I would not be in the position of power that I am today. Our relationship is less akin to a battle for power, and more like an epic chess match, each of us eagerly awaiting the other’s move. Our relationship is one built upon a seed of foundation of undying love and respect, grown over many years into a fully-fledged tree, roots so intertwined that it is almost inconceivable to me that they will now be separated. My career without him is uncertain, but my trust that he is the best man for this job is not.  
_

“Well, that was… intense.”

Raymond finished reading a second later. He looked up at Kevin’s mildly concerned face. 

“Are you ok?”

“Yes, very much so. Now if you will excuse me, I am going to cry in the bathroom.”

####  **2020**

* * *

“Captain Hitchcock, I have good news and bad news.”

“Bad news first Peralta, it’s what Captain Holt used to say.”

“Well the bad news is that we’re being investigated.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“The good news is that it’s by Deputy Commissioner Wuntch, and the captain always spoke very highly of her. Which is strange, because it always felt like they were fighting.”

“Yes, I remember… I worked with them back in the day. Very competitive, but they got the job done.”

Lieutenant Scully popped his head round the door. “Remember when she yelled at us about getting the girl a real job?” He picked up a pen, one of the ones that she had given him over the years. “To be fair, she was right.”

“Haven’t paid for a pen in years.” Hitchcock and Scully laughed while Jake looked on, confused. “I’ll tell you the story later. For now, just let the others know to prepare. 

“No need for that sir- they’re already here.”

“Well that was sudden – wait, they?”

The elevator dinged, and out stepped Raymond and Madeline.

“Captain, I mean _deputy chief_ \- not that I’m not happy to see you, but why are you here?”

Madeline spoke. “I’m just seeing what he did to this precinct.”

Raymond dropped his voice to a stage whisper. “Squad, this is where she says something along the lines of ‘Nothing good, I am sure…’”

“On the contrary, Raymond. You’ve done an excellent job.”

Captain Hitchcock looked confused. “You haven’t even looked around!”

“I trust Raymond Holt with both my precincts and my life – that’s not good, I’m sure...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sensible brain: it doesn't make sense that everything turns out so well! It's not realistic   
> Monkey brain: its my fic and i choose the happy ending
> 
> Thanks to everyone for reading and supporting this fic for so long! It's been a wild ride and I've learnt a lot along the way. I especially loved reading your comments so keep em coming <3
> 
> I'm (probably) not going to add anything more to this AU, but if you want to remix/add to it you are more than welcome!


End file.
